


When It Rains, It Pours.

by hillbillied



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Sex, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Issues, Deserved Happy Ending, Discrimination, Drama & Romance, Eventual Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, M/M, Major Character Injury, Period Typical Attitudes, Permanent Injury, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Religious Guilt, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 09:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12956517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillbillied/pseuds/hillbillied
Summary: Eddie finally makes it home from the war. Honourably discharged after the wounds he suffered on Peleliu, he is left with the realisation that he has nothing. No family to return to, no job, and no friends. The United States Marine Corps took the life he offered, but left him still breathing. All he knows for certain is the rumble of his pick-up and the long drive ahead of him – towards Lawrence, Massachusetts. That’s where his Captain hailed from. He can still remember Andy telling him so, on a quiet night alone together.Eddie doesn’t know if he’ll find rejection from a man who’s moved on, or a grieving family over a fresh gravestone. He won't bet on a third option.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A post-war Andy/Eddie fic about being gay veterans in a world they struggle to find a place in.
> 
> Notes: Red neck ties were a type of gay signalling used during the early 20th Century, pre-dating the handkerchief code in America.

> **When it Rains, it Pours**

 

 

_**March, 1946.** _

He walked it, from the spot where his boots hit the dock.

Over the wooden ramps that freed the men from their troop ship, through the waiting crowds of cheering loved ones. His uniform caught on skirts and coat-tails alike as he went; there was a band playing somewhere in the distance. The hassle of navigating it all fell away behind him – without family to greet or friends to find, it was just white noise.

Red, white, and blue noise.

He walked it, from the edge of the crowd all the way through the city. Canvas bag slung over his shoulder where it bumped rhythmically against his back. All his effects, personals, underwear; knocking _one, two, one, two_ with every step down the sidewalk. If it was heavy, he couldn’t tell.

When freshly painted billboards gave way to run-down housing and the occasional pit-stop; he knew he’d come to the right place.

1541 Kingsbury Street. _‘Hitchcock and Son’s User Cars’_ the sign helpfully supplied, as if the rows of automobiles weren’t enough of a giveaway. Perhaps not, to the inattentive civilian. Who knew, he couldn’t even begin to guess what their minds provided. His hadn’t even begun to attempt the re-wiring required for such a feat. That old radio would need to be taken apart with the precision and care afforded to a hand grenade.

There was something satisfying about it, pointing out the chipped blue pick-up and slamming a wad of bills on the counter. Satisfying in a way only a poor man could appreciate; to be rich for a moment. As if money didn’t matter and those crumpled piles of green weren’t almost a decade worth of blood, sweat, and tears. Hell, at least he’d never wasted a cent on luxury; the Marines had taught him to live with what only they and God could provide, and it was serving him something fine now.

He drove that pick-up out the lot with a smile and a half-hearted salute to the dealer.

She was a beauty. Light blue paint chipping away to only the faintest touch of rust around the outer parts. The engine purred beside his knees in the cab, grumbling a song no tank could ever replicate. Warm, too, even this early in the year.

A sweet victory as he looked her up and down in the shade of the gas station, a little place on the edge of the port-city. He bent down enough to rub her mirrors with his sleeve, caring nothing for the grub on his winter uniform. His slacks had mud on the hems anyway. And this darling was worth it, he realised, gas flowing into her tank and a little sunshine flashing off her bonnet.

If he knew what love was, he wouldn’t say this was it. But he didn’t, so he was pretty sure he loved this fucking car already.

Another wad of bills handed over the store owner and he would have been on his way, had he not seen the red and yellow letters spelling out “COLD BEER” overhead. Well, he wasn’t gonna say _no_.

Passenger seat Christened with a crate packed full of bottles, Hillbilly eased back down on the gas pedal and saw himself out. Back onto the crisp new roads heading highway-bound, every bump worth it for the sweet sound of glass rattling beside him.

It felt good just to have the leather of the wheel warmed beneath his calloused hands. Palms and fingers grasped around something soft – _softer_ , at least. No bare metal biting his skin or faint slick of gun oil. Just a fine car and a long drive ahead.

It almost left him in a good mood.

 

 

 

He headed west, but who wouldn’t.

Almost a year to make it back state-side, you’d think he’d have forgotten his way around. The pickup felt stranger than the roads, his bones so used to being knocked around inside green canvas trucks and roaring landing craft. Not that he remembered all of them.

He’d been barely conscious for about a month of it; the trip from Peleliu back to Banika was nothing but a blur. A blur and a hum and sounds he had to blink away to keep his eyes on the road. The surgery he couldn’t even place. The aftermath, he could. They’d dropped the shrunken mess of the bullet into his lap back in the safety of the hospital, watched his dead eyes stare the metal down like he didn’t know what it could have been. Struck dumb, literally.

Shrapnel in his chest, one bullet in his heart.

_“You’re a lucky man.”_

If he’d been lucky, he would’ve hauled his ass over Okinawa. Instead he’d bounced around hospitals, from islands to Australia and back again. Specks of land on the map with names he couldn’t make the effort to pronounce.

A lucky man in an unlucky spot.

The shrivelling piece of metal that had taken him out of his war was somewhere in his duffle. Slipped away in an empty Lucky Strike tin along with some other equally worthless shit.

A couple of Jap coins, washed up on the beach amongst the carnage. His dog-tags and Marine pins. Stones from Guadalcanal, Cape Gloucester, Pavuvu, and Peleliu respectively. A silver star and a worn cross that hadn’t seen the light of day in some time. The usual mementos.

The usual worthless shit.

What mattered more was the fresh packet of Luckies on the dashboard. Hillbilly had one lit without even a pause to lift his foot off the gas, knee supporting the wheel as he flicked his lighter against the smoke between his teeth. The fire illuminated his face for a moment with orange hues before he was hanging his arm out the window. Smoke trailing away in the breeze as he let out a gust in the cab.

It was getting dark and he felt like racing the setting sun. To where, he wasn’t sure. There had been a clear finish line during the fighting; it was called Tokyo and a lot people were gonna have to die for the blue ribbon.

Not anymore. Now there was only empty highways and nothing telling him to stop.

Hillbilly went West. At least it’d put as much distance between him and Europe as possible, just in case they wanted to jumpstart one more fucking war.

 

 

 

He couldn’t stop wearing his uniform.

Sure, he’d ditched the utilities; no more gaiters, cartridge pouches and the like. No matching sage green. His t-shirt though, that was standard issue. He hadn’t quite made the transition to jeans yet, either. Dress slacks adorned his legs as he stretched them over his pick-up’s bonnet. Back sticking to the dusty windshield, even in the early Spring weather. A comforting heat truly unlike the dry, bone-sucking sun of the Pacific.

Hillbilly wondered if his jeans would still fit him. A question washed over his tongue by the cool beer, bottle glinting in the setting sun. (Not the one he’d raced out of Delaware, a different sun. A younger, similar sun.)

Those jeans were older than some of the boys in his platoon. The idea made him snort into the bottle; a bitter sound that had him leaning his skull back against the blue roof.

They were his eighteenth birthday present. From himself, of course; his daddy would blow a hole in his own knee before he wasted a cent on such frivolous things. But Eddie had wanted them (needed them, in fact, but he’d never admit that) and he’d been stashing coins away since he was fourteen.

Joke was on him, he only got a month and a half wear out of them before he traded them in for bootcamp greens and the meanest set of boots he ever saw.

He hadn’t the heart to fish them out the duffle yet.

Just like he hadn’t the heart to cross the border into West Virginia or send the crumpled letter still folded away in that Luckies tin.

It crossed his mind like claws dragging over flesh, digging, drawing back skin and blood as he lowered his beer. The sun dipped below the horizon. The heat fell away, as if it knew what scrawled away behind his pale blue eyes.

A determined gulp and the bottle smashed against the dusty highway sign Hillbilly had parked himself beside. It twanged in the encroaching dark, matching the creaking of his girl’s bonnet as he slid back down to earth. Boots, floor, back up into the driver’s seat like nothing had happened.

With a single tug of the wheel, Eddie turned his beast around and swung into the opposite lane.

Suddenly, he was heading East. Turning-tail, just like always. How could he run head-first into machineguns if he couldn’t even roll over a state border or throw a piece of paper in the mail?

He truly was a stupid man. And a coward too.

 

 

 

If the slop Hillbilly was eating was supposed to be grits then Meriell Shelton was the second coming of Christ. The greying liquid was more akin to porridge than anything else. Supposedly Eddie had eaten worse. _Supposedly_.

His spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl hungrily regardless, shovelling pile after pile into his mouth without ceremony. He wasn’t about to tell the mill’s resident mistress her grits tasted like Jap wine. Wouldn’t be proper, especially if she’d ever tasted sake.

The entertainment made up for the taste; the two boys watching him eat. Just out of sight, brushing the corner of his vision where they were perched on one of the loading wagons. Dangling their legs through the bars and squinting at the foreigner in his own home, sat down on an upturned crate to eat his well deserved lunch.

“Yeah, guy’s a real hick – real country. Thick as slop but he can carry twice as many sacks as a regular Joe.”

Eddie forced his expression to remain faceless. The façade that he couldn’t hear their conversation would be shattered otherwise.

“Mountain of a man. Must be 6ft somethin’.” – “Didn’t your old man say he was in the army?” – “Yeah. Somethin’ like that.”

Hillbilly covered his offence behind a well timed clearing of his throat. ( _Army_. Incredible.)

It shut the pair up fast, giving Eddie time to tip the bowl back and slurp down the final dregs of its contents in appropriate hick fashion. Wiping his lips, he moved to stand back up and return to his work. Heaving two sacks of flour over his shoulder. Then another. Then a fourth, just when his muscles were starting to strain.

He’d regret it in the morning.

 

 

 

Every morning, without fail, he woke up at six o’clock.

Cracked open his eyelids with a groan and an uncomfortable hum. The pain flooding his spine, creeping over his chest, greeted him like a ton of bricks. He’d pushed his body an inch too far yesterday. And then several more inches to boot.

He should listen to Corpsmen more often. Or maybe he shouldn’t and instead just admit his inherent death wish. He’d have plenty of time to chew it over in the next hundred mile drive.

Work was scarce; staying in one place was impossible. Too many young men flooding back home after a good old war, too many towns accepting them with open arms. A stranger didn’t have time to make the connections, build the advantages, that a local kid had.

Temporary labour, then. Odd jobs, undignified and honest. There weren’t many Hillbilly couldn’t do, after all, even with several shards of metal still lodged beneath his skin.

And he had a head start; the roof of the pick-up wished him a quiet good morning as he stretched out over the front seat. His boots hit the passenger door with a thump and he let out a curse. A quick peer over the dashboard revealed nobody around to hear him in the flour mill’s lot. Too early for working. Perfect time to slip away unhindered by help.

Eddie slid himself into an upright position, blinking blearily over the wheel at the rising sun and yellowing sky. A quick rub of his palms over his eyes and he was ready to start the engine.

His duffle bag thumped softly against the floor, in sync with the purring engine as he pulled out onto the road. Another job done, another fine night’s sleep in the car that was doubling as his personal home.

Some might have called it a tragedy. Eddie called it an upgrade.

 

 

 

“Where are you from, Hillbilly?”

There was a hand moving over his jaw, fingers catching on barely visible stubble. The pad of a man’s thumb moving to brush the corner of his mouth, reminding him just how much he’d like take that digit between his lips. (Just how lucky he was to even be allowed to _consider_ such a thing.)

“That’s real personal, sir.” Eddie mumbled, persuaded to keep talking by the warm tingle of his skin moving against Ack Ack’s fingers, “Sensitive information.”

From his position on his back, familiar face hovering above him, Hillbilly could make out Andy’s amused smile. Handsome features illuminated even in the dark of the tent, the tiny slivers of moonlight a blessing where they broke through the canvas.

“I suppose so.” Haldane admitted. His smile didn’t falter. “I’m from Lawrence, Massachusetts.”

Eddie could still mouth out his exact response, even now – letting the lukewarm water cascade over his head. It brought a rare grin to his face, head shaking slightly as he shut off the shower. The tap squeaked as he stepped out the tub, droplets falling around his feet.

“Well, Captain Haldane-“ He’d said, trying so very hard not to smile, “a’ Lawrence, Massachusetts-”

Eddie mentally blocked out the rest of his dialogue, running a palm over the wet skin of his cheek with profound embarrassment. Blood coloured him a flushed pink as he let out a frustrated chuckle as his own foolishness. Yet, despite the stupidity he’d displayed; he’d never forget Andy’s expression as Eddie took his fingers into his mouth.

A heavy blink flushed the sinful images from his mind. Fingers flattened back his curls, for however briefly – just enough to free his sight, to squint at the chipped mirror and massage some soap into the hair rusting his jaw. Anything to keep his mind in the now, not the then, no matter how much he’d love to reminisce.

It wouldn’t be proper, not here. A borrowed bathroom on borrowed time was not the home for memories that had already stirred his gut in a shameful but familiar twist.

The Good Lord must’ve been watching because his stubble snagged on the razor, slicing a clean nick into his skin. Hillbilly hissed out a curse, politely hushed by gritted teeth and a locked door. A crimson bead appeared as he checked his reflection. Somehow, it wasn’t the most disturbing of new additions.

His locks had surpassed unruly and moved into the territory of untamed, lifting upwards from his scalp and falling in a flurry over his forehead. Short back and sides had given way to slightly overgrown back and sides, with a mop on top to complete the look. (The half-shaved beard wasn’t flattering the ensemble.)

Quiet pain electrified his skin as Eddie tugged lightly on a fallen lock, as if measuring the distance from his scalp. Comparing, evaluating. Lining it up with the imaginary trimmed curls he had maintained so religiously before now.

He’d had no choice, though he would have chosen to anyway. The company barbers had made sure of that. And hated Hillbilly; his unruly ringlets had always given their scissors a hard time.

The _Devil’s_ curly hair.

He noticed the dark shape reflected behind his head, the wooden cross nailed to the beige of the bathroom wall. It was blurred by the steam, by his poor eyesight. His reluctance to acknowledge it.

A droplet of blood splashed quietly against the porcelain and Hillbilly gratefully followed it with his gaze. A splash of red to be washed away beneath another tide of water. He finished his shave.

 

 

 

When he emerged from the bathroom, he was fully clothed. Respectful, of course, for the couple whose home he had so courteously invaded.

They’d refused his offer of paying for the water he’d used. Little did they know, he was paying tenfold in shame.

Never had he felt so decrepit, knocking on a stranger’s door. Dress uniform back on, cap in hand – literally. Explaining his disturbance with the truth, sprinkled with a pretty coating of white lies.

Hillbilly would have avoided it if he could’ve. Over a week on the road with no work in sight put men in desperate situations, however, and there hadn’t been a working pit-stop bathroom anywhere.

He’d swallowed his pride hard when the poor woman with greying hair had opened the door of her picket fence home. It’d gone down like a lump of brick, scraping his throat raw.

“Good mornin’, m’aam.” That was his choice start for his heart’s eulogy. “’m sorry t’disturb ye’ but I was wonderin’ if I could use y’sink.”

She’d been incredibly graceful about it all, mores the pity. Diligently questioned his intended use of her sink, which had led to Eddie telling his shuffling his feet that he intended to have a wash. At which point, the shower had been presented as an option; where in his remaining dignity had rolled over and succumbed to its wounds with a final heaving gasp.

She’d insisted he have breakfast too. He’d insisted she’d given him enough.

Any excuse to get back in his truck and free himself from those dark, pitying eyes.

 

 

 

There was a nagging truth that he was avoiding people. All interactions kept to the minimum; from the gas station clerks to the farm boys he worked beside when he got the chance. Small talk, not real talk. Greetings, pleasantries, business, farewells. _One, two, one, two_.

It might have been lonely if Hillbilly had ever recognised the concept.

How could he? There had only ever been him. Eddie looked out for Eddie, nobody else. He was the carer, not the cared for, and nowadays his help didn’t come free. He wondered how his brothers and sisters were faring without their eldest sibling to wrangle them into shape.

He wondered if they’d been told he was dead. Maybe the whole county had been.

He wondered if he should rectify that purposeful mistake, make his daddy red with rage.

There was time for that later, surely. The highway stretching out beyond the dusty windshield, disappearing into the orange sunset; that was for today. It drew him into its fire as the pedal slowly eased closer and closer to the flat of the floor. Engine revving and purring as it let out a shudder, enjoying the release of speed Hillbilly fed it.

He’d slap himself for wasting gas in the morning.

 

 

 

Morning came sooner than he imagined.

Parked up on an empty road when it’d gotten too dark to justify the drive, he’d laid his head down against the driver’s seat with a soft sigh. Never had he so actively cursed his long legs. Fully stretched out, his ankles rested against the brim of the window. Feet hung out, hovering over the steep drop into the dust of the roadside.

It was warm. He needed the window open anyway, he told himself.

A black sky disappeared as his eyes fell shut, drifting away into a bottomless sleep – that sunk its claws into his bullet wounds and shrapnel scars alike.

The sensations overcame him, the distinct feeling of nails digging into flesh. Through clothes, through skin, and finally into what lied beneath. Blood and tissue, fat and bone.

Built from a steady string of gasps, then huffs, then whimpers; Eddie’s scream was able rattle the cab. Hips jerking downward, the momentum sent his torso upward; sitting up as his body coiled into a defensive stance.

He was, unfortunately, an unlucky man. And a tall man.

His sweaty brow collided heavily with the metal roof, leaving him momentarily dazed as he let out a strangled curse. His palm flashed to his skull like he’d been struck, checking for a wound that wasn’t there. An animal on its last legs, one shot from giving up. Realising that the trap around its paw wasn’t budging and the rifle training its sights wasn’t going to hesitate.

The violent tremors that wrenched at Eddie’s chest weren’t satisfied with his pained whimper. Muscles jolted and shivered, his ribcage unsteady as his heart slammed itself against its prison. It wanted to escape. It wanted to stop.

A slow blink to calm the blurry vision – a deep breath to refill the lungs he’d neglected. The grey spots began to recede as Hillbilly found oxygen reaching his brain, force feeding the wretched, starving beast before it shocked itself to death. Wide eyes squeezed themselves shut, aching skull falling back against the damp cushion of the driver’s seat.

Artillery bells continued to ring in his ears.

Mouth clamped shut, Eddie continued to draw in sharp gusts of air through his nostrils. In and out with a religious precision. (He’d been practicing.) Only the occasional hiccup or shudder of fear could distract from his healing mantra, of letting his chest rise and fall, over and over and over again.

Whatever tension they thought they held, his muscles begrudgingly let it go. The bells faded too.

All that had conspired to take him had departed, left him alone to his sweat-soaked seats and sore body. Wet hair fell across his forehead, tickling the bruise he knew would bloom pretty. The only tremor remained in his lower lip.

No sound. Just his breath, the wind. The creak of the car as he slowly, _carefully_ , tried to sit up.

Nothing challenging; propping himself up on his elbows so his gaze could glimpse over the dashboard. An empty highway greeted him. The horizon was playing a mediocre rendition of a clear, dawn sky. He’d missed the sunrise spectacular.

A couple of harsh kicks to the passenger door freed the dog from his kennel, booted feet managing to find that sweet spot of pressure on the inside handle that had the exit swinging open. (A display of aggression Eddie would feel guilty about later down the road. Enough that he’d toss a few extra dollars to the young man at the gas station, give him a frightening stare and say there was more to spare if he turned the hose on his ride. He’d fill her tank up all the way, too, just to hear her purr happily when he pulled away.)

For the moment though; he couldn’t give a damn.

His punishment was exquisite, his fall from grace a sight; his boots hit the dust but his body couldn’t follow through. One step forward and his hands had to prevent his face planting into the sand, scrambling in the dirt to try and get him back on his feet. It propelled him forward, his undignified stumble, so at least he had only a few more feet to stagger into the brush.

His belt was an obstacle and his pants seemed to take an eternity to unbutton.

Tipping his head back, Eddie felt his Adam’s apple bob against the sky as he swallowed thickly. A heavy sigh set his shoulders slumping as he relieved himself, pretending all of the agony from earlier was being released along with his steady stream of piss.

He knew that couldn’t be true. His fingers shook as he clipped his buckle back into place.

 

 

 

In a moment of weakness, Hillbilly had said _“I want this to last.”_

A billboard reminded him when he finally passed into New York State. The lasting taste of coca-cola, or something to that effect. It had ignited a petty aggression in his gut.

No soft drink had ever lasted for him. Not in equal value to the time he’d waited to get it, anyway. A rare treat that brought divine joy to him as a child had become mundane beside enlisted men. Men who had always known such pleasures, not that that was any fault of theirs. It was hard to express excitement over something so stupid surrounded by the toughest guys he’d ever known.

Sipping his beer bottle, Eddie could admit that he’d stopped wanting every taste to last. Soft drinks had stopped being special – especially when alcohol was an available alternative.

_Those moments with Andrew’s arms around him hadn’t._

They’d started uncomfortably special and remained so; painfully unfamiliar in a way that shook his very core.

Eddie’d had sex before he’d met Andrew Haldane. He’d had good sex before then, too. He’d dropped to his knees in communal showers, been bent over his cot numerous times. Forced his fingers between his teeth to keep quiet in the darkest after hours, taken unsubtle recruits home from bars and let them pound him wild. Had sailors tuck themselves away and swagger hastily out the door – while he was left to stare up at the ceiling and light up a fresh cigarette.

Eddie’d had sex before he’d met Andrew Haldane, not all of it forgettable or violent. Most of it pleasant.

What he’d done with Andy was different. And it’d scared him.

 

 

 

This was his new start, free of the Marines, free of the war. Free of everything _‘before’_ , regardless of whether he wanted that to be the case. Eddie was determined to act accordingly.

There would be no reminiscing, no throw-backs. No wallowing in pity or pain or longing for what he’d lost. He couldn’t allow it.

So he didn’t think of K Company. Of the boys he’d abandoned on Peleliu.

He didn’t think of Burgie, how that young man would have made a fine officer if given half the chance. Trusting him with command had been as easy as swallowing sweet honey.

He didn’t think of De Leau or Leyden, wondering if the latter had ever returned to the company. If the former had been able to hold himself together under the crushing weight around him.

He didn’t think of Sledge with his big brown eyes. Somehow always able to grow a little wider, break a little deeper. Eddie hoped that shock never left him; that he never, ever stopped being scared of what war could be. The alternative was far worse.

He didn’t think of Shelton, that cocky son of a bitch. Always toeing the line, like he _wanted_ to get thrown out the Corps. Unsubtle to the end; eyeing up recruits with his shirt off, swinging his legs back and forth, not even trying to hide his intentions. Eddie certainly didn’t snort at the idea of Eugene finally cottoning on to the outrageous lust Shelton displayed for him semi-exclusively. That certainly didn’t make him chuckle when it emerged from the depths of his memory.

He didn’t think of Captain Andrew Haldane, because there was nothing to think of. That man was either dead to him or dead for real. Both stung terribly, but only when Eddie thought about it in another moment of weakness. Other than that, the man was just a dull ache. Always present, but always bearable.

Hillbilly could go on like that forever. At least, he thought he could. Hiding the sting behind the ache, and the ache behind hard liquor. That’d keep him going until the end of his days, skipping from job to job across the East coast. He was certain he could do it.

A little fun along the way would distract him, too. Sate the part of him the ache had yet to touch, the part simultaneously repressed by the Corps and fed recklessly by it. Because his sweaty forehead pressed against the steering wheel, his hand jerking himself ruthlessly as his panting breath left droplets on the leather just wasn’t cutting it these days. His own hand down the front of his pants wasn’t enough.

 

 

 

He pulled into the gas station with one thing on his mind.

Two things, maybe. The second being a restock of beer, some bread maybe. Food to cram into his mouth when he remembered to eat. He was resigned to the belief that this was the only one of his itches that would be scratched today, the first and unspoken one having followed him all the way across the border. Through gas station and gas station, pit stop after pit stop.

Eddie was a tall man. But today, he was also a lucky one.

The old man behind the counter looked like his bones might crumble with every heave of his chest. Definitely not Hillbilly’s type, he could admit that without shame. The man browsing the newspapers across the store, however, was quite another story.

Too warm for a jacket, the figure had stripped down to just his sweater vest and shirt, sleeves rolled back like the weight of the paper could take a real toll. Not that fashion had ever interested Eddie. Only one thing stood out to the marine; the red neck tie perfectly knotted around the man’s throat.

Hillbilly’s hands slid into his pockets, sauntering idly between the caged shelves.

Judging by the car out front – a little too fancy for a gas station, he might add – his mystery person was from New York. The city, if anyone was taking guesses.

Eddie knew what they said about red neck ties in New York City. He’d seen his fair share before, under various bar lights around various men’s collars. Wrapped around his wrists, too, while hot breath tickled his neck and an almost mocking accent filled his ear.

Hillbilly swallowed thickly, hiding it behind a sharp jerk of the head. Looking down, _down_ , over the poor selection of magazines and comics on the other side of the news rack. Almost face-to-face with the red neck tie, only a little metal and paper dividing their lower halves.

The stranger noticed Eddie’s eyes on him - under the curly mop of hair that had fallen a little too far down his forehead - and raised his hand. Brought his finger and thumb to his lips as their eyes met, and ran his tongue along the skin. With only a heartbeat’s pause, his stare moved back to the newspaper, as did his fingers. The page turned.

Heat erupted across the back of Hillbilly’s neck.

Red neck tie smiled.

“I got a long drive back t’ the Bronx,” He began, gaze still downcast as Eddie fumbled with one of the magazines, “Y’got any recommendations for a bachelor on the road?”

“No, sir.” Hillbilly replied, finding his voice a little raspier that he’d have liked. He took refuge in his thick accent, the perfect cover for short words. “’m not too good at readin’ an’ drivin’.”

The stranger chuckled, folding the newspaper and he leant forward. Over the shelves, a little closer.

“You hayseed boys never are.”

Oh, _clever_. Hillbilly didn’t rise to it. Recognising a test was more important than complaining about it. This one he’d passed before, with flying colours.

“Reckon not.” A passive, _passive_ answer for an ugly, _ugly_ comment. But they weren’t here for a fight, were they? “But we make up f’ it.”

Red neck tie flicked a hair from his vest. The light bulb flickered above, lit dimly despite the sunshine outside. It was only just passing noon.

“Oh yeah?” The stranger asked, folding his newspaper again, as if he meant to leave. They both knew he wasn’t going anywhere. “How’d you make up f’ it, hayseed boy?”

Eddie lifted his gaze so their eyes met once more. A moment of stares exchanged before the tiniest of movements; blue eyes flickered downwards for a second before they returned, and hovered over the front of the stranger’s slacks. Red neck tie licked his lips.

“Y’know, it’s a long ride t’New York.” The man was all but leaning on the shelving now. “I should really go take a piss before I get on the road…”

A soft huff escaped Hillbilly’s lips, eyes half lidded as he enjoyed the familiar proposition.

“Restrooms just next door.” The newspaper was waved between them. “Think I’ll get this t’go.”

Red neck tie turned back to the counter. The old man looked pleasantly surprised to actually get a sale out of the man. All while Eddie lingered, hands in his pockets. Fists clenching and unclenching excitedly.

He could skip the food and beer to scratch this itch.

The stranger left first, waving politely as the bell chimed and he sauntered out. Hillbilly paid for his gas with sweaty, crumpled bills and made a quick exit.

He found red neck tie outside, slowly but surely wandering towards the adjacent restroom. Eddie watched lustfully, chest rising with anticipation and he watched those slacks move across the parking lot. He took in the view; how the stranger’s dark hair was slicked back so perfectly despite the breeze.

_Dark hair._

Almost black, though it rusted brown in the fading light. The sun had dipped behind a cloud and suddenly the orange hues had turned a tone of grey. No more rose tint. Everything faded back into real colour, except the stranger’s locks.

They should be blond.

Somewhere between his stomach knotting and the droplets breaking out across his brow, Eddie’s feet had chosen a new direction to walk in. The restroom door squeaked but he didn’t see it. He was already tugging on the handle of his car. Ass on the seat, key turning in the ignition. She roared into life and only got louder as she swerved violently out the lot and onto the open road.

Nail imprints were left in the leather of the wheel as Eddie stared the highway down. As if he could ignore the racing of his heart, the screeching in his ears.

He felt as if he’d been caught by that old man at the counter.

He hadn’t. This was worse.

As he tried to blink away the vice crushing his chest, Eddie realised that ever-present ache had finally infected the last part of him. That it had now seeped into every pore, every drop of blood. His last, dirty, desperate escape in a filthy gas station restroom had only fed the disease. He wouldn’t be able to go on like this anymore.

At the next fork in the road, he sat at the empty turning for an eternity. In silence, as if God could hear his quiet torment and would graciously rip the ground out from beneath his tires.

No such luck.

The wheel spun beneath his hands eventually. Eddie turned off towards the Massachusetts’ border.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie arrives in Lawrence, Massachusetts, looking for what he can only assume is a dead man.

There was a city directory under his fingers. Faint patches of sweat were left in his wake with every page turned, running his hand over the names as if he were actually reading them.

Conveniently alphabetised, there should be no need for Eddie to be running over the ‘ _G_ ’ section of the city’s residents. Nor ‘ _F_ ’ section before that. No sections ‘ _A_ ’ through ‘ _E_ ’ either.

Fear was such an insidious thing; it lived too deep in a man to ever gouge out. If it was ripped from one spot it would merely adapt, and grow in another. He didn’t fear the crack of artillery overhead but somehow the idea of finding a familiar name shook him to his core.

Clammy hands pulled back the browning paper and revealed the next chapter header. The ornately printed ‘ _H_ ’ stared back at him. A trembling breath shook his nostrils before Hillbilly could allow himself to sit forward, arch his back, and finally bring the words into view. Squinting down at the finely placed marks across mottled paper.

It’d taken him till the afternoon to reach the page. Reading was not his strong suit.

It began with _Hackett_.

Then _Haddock_. Then _Haden_ , of which there were two.

 _Hadfield. Hagan. Hague,_  one of three. _Hailwood. Haime_ , two. _Haine. Hainsworth_. Two  _Hakes_ , three _Halberns_ , and a _Halbert_.

 ** _Haldane_**.

His chest shook as his thumb ran across the blurry name.

It seemed almost surreal. Not that he was used to seeing the word printed out, rather than simply escaping the lips of every officer and recruit on every island they stepped foot upon. It fit, however; even the structure of the letters seemed perfected.

Eddie tore his eyes away. The blunt pencil that he fumbled out of his jeans pocket – he’d starting wearing them again, just a little on the tight side but he’d make do – was quickly accompanied by a crumbled candy wrapper. Numbers gave way to poorly scrawled letters as he jotted down the address that sat so calmly beside his Captain’s name.

The wrapper was folded carefully away then, as if a single crease could ruin the precious information. A clap of paper had the directory closed in Eddie’s wake, tucked under his arm, and escorted back to its proper home. It slid onto the shelf a little too easily.

The world just refused to try and stop him.

 

 

 

He parked on the other side of town for two days.

As much as he wanted to, _scoping out the area_ was not a civilian activity. Or at least, when it was, it was exclusively for criminals and perverts. Eddie had no intention of spying on an unsuspecting family, hoping to catch a glimpse of their routine, even if it was innocent in intent. He’d say his daddy raised him right but that lie was big enough to have him gagging, should he choose to tell it.

Lawrence had a public shower and it left Hillbilly ready to fall to his knees and shout the Lord’s praises when he found it. Every man around him was ignored once he stood under the water’s tirade, making quick work of scrubbing his skin raw. Every trace of highway dust, cold sweat, and cigarette stains was erased beneath the rough motions of a borrowed cloth, rubbing him a pretty pink in the heat. Even his hair fell victim to the frothing bubbles he applied, massaged blessedly from head to toe.

If the other patrons made note of his scars, Eddie didn’t mind. He’d never thought himself handsome to begin with, and you couldn’t take away from nothing.

The scratchy towel was a bliss he wasn’t expecting as he dragged away the lingering droplets. It had him burying his face in it a few more times than necessary, running it over his curls, leaving it hanging comfortably about his neck. He leant against the long sinks and shaved away his stubble.

There was nothing to be done about his overgrown locks, mores the pity. Barbers were expensive.

He left the showers by eight o’clock, wearing his winter dress uniform. Creased and dusty at the edges, but otherwise in good condition. His cap felt like it would crack his skull under its weight and his belt felt tighter than a straight jacket. He kept both on regardless.

Noticing the young man eyeing him up in the changing room hadn’t taken much work. Lean and big-eyed, the kid had fluttered his lashes and stayed nude longer than it took Eddie to get entirely dressed.

He was blond. The ex-marine was certain this was his own last fleeting attempt at escape. But the pale, honey-touched curls of the man did nothing to keep Hillbilly from clipping his belt buckle firmly closed, and slamming the locker door.

Blond wasn’t enough. It never had been.

 

 

 

He pulled up on the right street at ten o’clock. Parked, yanked the handbrake into place, and sat back in his seat. The summer sun was on its way and the rays left the cab sticky.

In the wool of his uniform, Eddie knew he should get out. He stubbornly sat and stewed for another hour.

 

 

 

His Boondockers hit the slabbed sidewalk with a quiet sound. It missed the climatic opportunity to send his ass running, leaving him standing awkwardly beside his beloved pick-up instead. Back straight, hand lingering on the doorhandle. Dressed up, eyes down, shoulders hunched and looking about ready to panic.

His tie felt tighter than ever. It’d collared his throat, and the leash wasn’t letting him leave this road. Not until he’d had his heart broken. Whether by death or by design, he didn’t care. He wasn’t sure which was worse; a quick but painful chop to the neck or the slow process of poison, feeling it crawl through every cell in his body.

Either way, he couldn’t leave. Just like he couldn’t not get on that landing craft. Just like he couldn’t retreat from that beach. Just like he couldn’t shy away from that airfield, those hills, the bursting shells.

Some things just had to be done.

His boots clapped against the stone as he passed the neatly trimmed grass that was blooming along the row of houses. _The suburbs;_ a nice enough area. White wooden homes with porches and pillars, glass panes on the doors and American flags blowing over every other entranceway.

So, this was where the legend came from.

Footsteps drew to an abrupt stop as a hedgerow dividing one pretty home gave way to the next. _Number 56_. His final destination.

There could only have been ten feet to the porch. Only three steps up and another heartbeat from there to the door. It stretched on as if it were miles of Australian desert. He’d come for a house visit, hadn’t prepared for a marathon.

It set the cogs in Hillbilly’s mind loose, had them tumbling into his stomach to rattle around uncomfortably. Beating against the knots in his muscles and the clenching pain of his fists.

With a sharp turn that only a military man could achieve, Eddie marched himself past the white porch. Down the sidewalk and onto the grass of the next house. Behind the hedgerow that sheltered him from view of the Haldane’s residence.

His hands slapped against his thighs as he bent forward and wretched, emptying his breakfast onto the neighbour’s lawn. His fingers fumbled for a hold on the bush but found none, leaving him to flail desperately for a moment. His hand eventually moved to cover his lips, damp skin pressing hard against his teeth. Holding back any other unwanted surprises that his gut might feel the need to send upwards.

Wiping away the spit, Eddie straightened up with a heavy sigh. He viewed the splatter of vomit at his feet with distain. Less for the contents and more for himself creating it, his only redemption being that he’d managed to miss his shoes completely. He’d feel terrible for the poor lawn owners did he not feel terrible enough as it was.

Tugging his jacket back into place, Eddie stood up straight. His hands adjusted his cap with a dignified jerk.

It’d be noon soon.

The sun was almost directly above, gleaming warm gold on every window pane and car windshield in sight. The white houses looked beautiful.

It was a spell that would have to break.

Eddie slowly turned and approached the Haldane’s porch.

He counted each stair. The first footfall; confident, a measure of his strength. There was speed to the drop of his boot, the hard surface pushing back against his weight. The second gave way to a creak; the whitewashed wood quietly protested such persons on their clean-swept terrace. By the third, his legs had slowed to a crawl. A fearful, _aching_ crawl.

The muscles of his thighs had taken a three-step shift and made from it a ten mile march. Already Hillbilly was ready to collapse onto his cot, rip off his socks, and survey the burning blisters that couldn’t be there.

He stood on the top stair for the longest time, staring fixedly at the door. White wood, of course, framing a pretty little pane of clouded glass. Four panels, divided evenly by the slim beams.

A crossroads with four available exits. Down the street to the left, down the street to the right, or straight backwards off the porch and into the oncoming traffic.

Or forward. That just didn’t seem like an option.

It left him gingerly taking another stunted stride towards the entrance. A final push and he let one more footfall impact, rooting him deep under the shadow of the porch’s roof.

It was passed noon.

Eddie felt the rush, that urgent need to be punctual. For what, he couldn’t say. Yet, the longer he lingered in silence, the heavier his arms felt. The greater the lead became, galvanising in his veins and turning every thought of movement into a strain.

The American flag blew carelessly in the breeze above his head, supported by a pole extended from the overhang. The white stripes looked almost gold in the sunlight. A gentle breeze took its colours to the dance; the tiniest flicker of motion in the corner of Hillbilly’s eye.

He ignored it as his reflection stared unseeingly back at him. Grey-eyed and somehow looking through himself. A dead man walking.

It was time to see if that made two of them.

Eddie had to know. He had to be sure. Whether that be a confirmation of death or a confirmation of rejection _; he had to know._ Would he be weeping over a grave or the bottom of whisky glass tonight? Didn’t matter. Drowning was drowning, in piss or seawater.

Curled fingers met his palm, his hand rising to the challenge the door held. It was shaking. He let a steady breath escape him, hoping to settle the tremor in his bones. It couldn’t be helped.

After another final, sharp inhale, Eddie let his knuckles rap firmly on the glass. Three taps that echoed eternally in his head.

A part of him hoped nobody was home. Or, at least, that the announcement of his presence could not be heard down the hallway.

Perhaps he was an unlucky man, then.

No sooner had he blinked and attempted to pull down his jacket one last time than a familiar clunk rattled the glass pane. A handle was taken in hand and folded away, releasing the door with a jerk before it swung back gracefully.

Curled and pinned silver hair greeted his eyes. She was far smaller than him and Eddie found his eyes dropping to meet hers, in perfect time with the rigid straightening of his back. Brought to attention by an elderly woman without so much as a spoken word. Her wrinkles attested to her age, to the glossiness over her eyes that conserved wisdom as well as judgement. The creases of her face marked out years of smiles and frowns in equal measure, as many as there were tiny petals across her dress.

He was certain the grey across her locks was covering blond.

“Yes?” She asked kindly, her frown one of concern and her smile sympathetic, “May I help you?”

Every drop of blood was running down his body, pooling at his feet and seeping away through the floorboards, staining them red. Her expectant eyes drew every word, every thought, every feeling bar the need to flee from his tongue, dragged from his parted lips with his very breath. His mouth grew dry and even the most agonising gulp could not satisfy.

He was too scared to speak. He must have looked it.

Her smile faded to an expression of worry. The guilt of it had Eddie on the brink of collapse.

Her voice was soft as she pushed against his silence.

“Lieutenant?”

 _Lieutenant_. That was him, wasn’t it. The realisation didn’t stop him glancing down at his winter uniform, the dark green drawing his eyes to the leather strap constricting his chest. It was holding his heart inside his chest. He followed her eyes for help – upwards. To the tiny, gleaming bar pressed against the side of his cap.

His hands shot to his forehead with an angry draw of breath, filling his lungs in the hope of stifling his humiliation. Eddie quickly pulled the offending fabric from his hair, leaving his curls to fall wildly against his skin and shoot skywards in a horrible display, no longer tamed by the pressure of his hat. The Eagle’s wings of his pin bit painfully against his palm as he clutched the thing in embarrassment.

“I’m-“ He had to stop, to swallow again between his words, “I’m sorry t’ disturb ye’, m’amm-“

Another beat had his brow furrowing, unconsciously enraged by the thickness of his words. The rough, undignified accent that plagued every syllable of his so carefully prepared speech.

“But I was wonderin’ if this were the Haldane residence.”

Though the distain directed at himself was strong, the desperation directed at her was stronger. It filled his eyes with bright light, wide and scared and ill-equipped for what she might say next. What she might say after that.

What he’d say to her now.

“Why yes,” She said slowly, treading each word with a patience he couldn’t comprehend, “Lynn Haldane is my husband – are you looking for him?”

She seemed to answer her own question. Her eyes grew dark, her concern turning to a reserved hostility. As if that uniform before her could only bear bad news.

“Or are you looking for my son-“ She said, “ _Andrew_.”

The word struck Eddie like a blade to the gut, sliding deep and filling his chest with another terrified gulp of air. His officer’s bar and globe pin would be leaving deep indentations on his hands, drawing blood from his fingers were he gripped them like a vice.

_Son._

This was Andy’s mother.

Eddie’s expression crumbled, falling away to reveal the desperate features of a man living his final moments. All he could manage was a broken “Yes” through the tightness in his throat, the sudden iron grip of his tie as it throttled him silently.

The American flag had fallen still.

The woman in the doorway looked at him with a veiled expression. She considered, and then opened her mouth to speak.

He braced himself for the worst.

“ _Eddie?_ ”

Silver hair drew back as the woman turned, revealing the long, sunlit corridor of her home. Eddie followed that new voice, peering deeper into the wooden heart that had been built around something so precious to him. The figure within, clear only to the pair on the doorstep, stepped cautiously forward into the ray of golden air.

The fingers clutching Hillbilly’s cap fell slack. The fabric, his officer’s bar – the globe, eagle, and anchor – sunk to the floor. A slow, cushioned drop down - down to the unrelenting floorboards. If the offending item clattered, no one heard.

A halo shone around Andy’s head, growing in intensity with every pace he took closer to the doorway; the source of light, the crack that allowed the afternoon sunshine to pierce his house. It reflected in his eyes, left them shimmering in a way Eddie had never seen in him. Like daylight on the ripples of a clear lake.

Hillbilly’s ribs had shrunk, his lungs no longer able to draw in or out. Frozen in place, even in the warm weather and growing heat that spread fatally through his veins. Hands still poised as if they clutched his cap, lips still parted as if he might speak. That would not be possible for now.

His brow softened. The muscles beside his eyes creased, released, relaxed and tensed. His expression was unable to portray the sensations knocking against his chest, beating his ribs black and blue. Grey fuzz began to tickle the edges of his vision. A tilt took the world, only to reset a moment later.

Andy put a stop to all that. He approached; his footfalls rung louder than church bells.

Eddie blinked and cleared his throat. The sound reminded him of a scraping bayonet. Rough, undignified, and painful to the ears.

“Captain Haldane.” He managed, “It’s… _good_ t’see you ag’in.”

It occurred to him, in a moment of confusion – when his heart had stopped and his body threatened to faint – that Ack Ack had greeted him quite differently. Without rank or pretence. With a softness only that man could make so strong and masculine; the perfect friend, father, and marine. (With something a little damp in his eyes, too, but Eddie didn’t recall.)

Hillbilly couldn’t manage that. He would never be capable of such calibre.

Andrew’s mother turned back to their visitor with a much less hostile expression, placated by her son’s recognition. Not that Eddie paid her any attention, incapable of drawing his gaze from where his Captain held it. Anchoring their eyes together, meeting once and now co-dependent. Until Eddie’s superior permitted them to break.

There was a silence as Andy approached. Hoping either of them could make sense of the unspoken conversation should they be a little closer, able to study the reflections of their eyes in more detail. No such luck befell Hillbilly; he could no more see what lie behind Ack Ack’s gaze than he could see the future.

The stars and stripes above started to flutter again. The breeze returned.

Captain Haldane spoke.

“I could say the same to you, Lieutenant.” His hand reached for the doorframe. It supported him where he stood shoulder-to-temple with his mother. “I’ve never been happier to have a uniformed man arrive at our door.”

The words left Eddie to swallow back his blush, crushing the butterflies threatening to escape his stomach. They were trodden to little more than smears as he bent to retrieve his cap, quickly and efficiently returning it to his hands. Andy’s eyes followed him down.

“I’d understand if y’never thought t’see ‘nother set a’ dunagrees ag’in, sir.” Eddie said. It was accompanied by what might have been half a laugh, and the smallest of smiles. Testing the seawater, hoping it was warm.

Andrew let out a familiar huff of his own, shaking his head as his mother watched in content confusion. His smile was brighter than the sun that shone against his blond hair.

“I’d hardly compare your greens to dungarees.” He must have felt Hillbilly’s embarrassment, seen the flush of his cheeks and the squaring of his shoulders, “But I’d be the first to defend your honesty there.”

An undetectable sigh had Eddie’s muscles relaxing where he stood.

“Thank you, sir.”

They were both smiling.

“Come on in, Eddie.” Ack Ack said, motioning inside as he stepped away from the threshold. Hand still gripping the doorframe; supporting his weight against the sturdy wooden beam. “You didn’t come all this way just to wish me well and be turned away.”

Both men looked to Andrew’s mother; the last stamp of approval to allow Hillbilly into the grace of their home. She tutted, but it held no malice. Only fond disapproval.

“Well, you’re not going to get much discussion done on the doorstep.” She huffed, as if the dragging out of the invitation had tried her patience. She turned away and strode back down the hallway. “We have a such a lovely garden.”

It broke the spell that had struggled to hold the scene, peeling away the last remains of Eddie’s desire to flee. With a grateful nod at the disappearing silver hair, he stepped cautiously across the threshold - plunging into the freezing waters of an unfamiliar ocean. His shoulder brushed Andy’s chest as the door was pushed gently closed behind them, sealing the exit. The panelling left fractured patterns across their skin; the room suddenly dark without the direct sunlight lighting up the hall.

Alone for the first time, Eddie found himself staring at the man lent so close to him – hand still resting for support on the door handle. A tall shoulder against a still-strong chest, such an awkward position to be so intimate in.

Andy stared right back at him, under the shadows of the entrance.

He smiled softly, then pulled away. Following in his mother’s footsteps, passing away down the hall. Hillbilly’s gaze followed his eyes until he could no longer see them.

The scar beside Andy’s temple left so many terrible questions on his tongue.

 

 

 

The garden proved small and shallow, only a fraction wider than the house itself. The rear fence could be reached with limited strides, though difficult to touch; the neatly trimmed bushes and maintained trees defended its honour from prying eyes. Flowers were exploding in every corner; freshly made pots lined the bright grass.

And it was as lovely as Eddie had imagined.

Three chairs matched the ornate metal table, painted white of course. It felt wretched to take one, knowing there already dwelt a trio within the home. Hillbilly could only hope Andy’s father was currently not present as he sat carefully down against the warm iron. His hat was laid uncomfortably against his lap, back straight as a board. He felt out of place, even in his second best uniform.

Ack Ack wasn’t complaining, reclining far more casually in the seat to one side of his visitor. Though he kept his pale sweater vest on, his shirt sleeves had been rolled up to compensate for the heat. His watch still faced downward against the table. It would have felt odd for both of them to do otherwise after so long.

The windows of the conservatory behind them left Mrs. Haldane in full view as she moved amongst the kitchen. Far enough to politely leave them alone; close enough to watch over her boy with every straying glance. Respectful and yet invasive. Eddie would have been tense regardless.

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes. The breeze moved their hair and the sun warmed their clothes, keeping their trappings content. Tired eyes looked Eddie up and down, slowly taking in every angle of his figure. Hillbilly wished he could be so casual as to do the same, but found his gaze would not stray from Andy’s face. At least, it strayed no further than his eyes and the occasional, prying glance over that scar beside his temple.

“It’s good to see you, Eddie.” Ack Ack began.

“I’m… glad I came.” Hillbilly replied slowly.

They’d each said the same thing.

‘ _I’m happy you’re alive_.’ But they both knew that, could translate the relaxed words into the heavy, agonising confessions they really were.

“When they carried you off that ridge…” It was odd to see Andy struggle with his words, sounding so confident yet fading out into silence between thoughts, “There was nothing, nobody could tell us…”

A disgruntled huff left his nose where he lent against the table. His elbows supported his weight as Eddie watched him tap his knuckles against the metal.

“I suppose it was hard to get any confirmation, up in those hills.”

Hillbilly lowered his gaze to his lap, ashamed of the uncertainty he’d caused this man.

“I survived.” He admitted bluntly, as if the words Andy had needed back on Peleliu could be said now to the same effect, “Made it t’ the hospital. They shipped me back t’ Pavuvu f’surgery.”

He omitted the surgery near Peleliu Airfield. And the surgery after that, on the beach, waiting for a ship to take him somewhere he could recover. Both times an emergency. Both times near fatal.

Ack Ack’s smile was delighted and pained. A difficult mix to hold under such exhausted eyes.

“I’d have given anything for that news.” He said. “Thank you, Eddie.”

That phrase shouldn’t have given such flight to Eddie’s heart, but it managed it. A sensation of joy he was quick to squash, holding down the flapping beast as he adjusted himself in his seat.

“With respect, sir, y’ saw what ‘appened t’me.” Hillbilly admitted, his speech once again slowing to a cautious crawl. He stopped there, refusing to continue and delve into the territory of prying. It wasn’t a conversation he could force. The invitation had been extended; it was his Captain’s choice whether to accept.

But when had his Captain ever been anything but gracious?

“Yes, that’s true.” Ack Ack huffed pleasantly.

His fingers had come together on the tabletop, thumb rubbing lightly over the skin of his palm.

“How much of 3-5 could you follow?”

Eddie swallowed thickly. “I heard y’d been shot, if that’s what y’askin’.”

Andy turned his eyes back to his guest with an apologetic smile. Joke was on him; the sentiment only left Hillbilly aching. Desperate to wipe that look from the man’s face by any means necessary; take him in his arms and violently assure him that there was nothing on this earth for him to feel sorry for, least of all towards his wretched Lieutenant.

The backdoors swung open with a squeak. Both men straightened up instinctively, leaning back in their chairs and returning those precious extra inches to the space between them. Their faces turned to Mrs. Haldane as she descended the steps onto the grass, approaching with a glowing smile and a tray in hand.

“It’s too hot to sit outdoors without a drink.” She instructed, placing the jug of lemonade against the table with a gentle clang.

“Thank you.” The men said in hurried unison. They exchanged amused glances at the display.

She left them with two glasses to compliment the generous jug of pale yellow, retreating to the kitchen but leaving the backdoor open. The windows squeaked as she cracked them loose as well. Neither of the pair commented.

Eddie’s hands remained in his lap. Andy lacked the hesitation, taking the handle casually and pouring out two full cups of lemonade.

“I only managed another two days after you left.” He chuckled. As if the word _‘managed’_ could ever be applied honestly to Captain Haldane in such a context.

Still, it left a confusing twist in Eddie’s gut. Amplified by the motion of Andy sliding one of the drinks over to his side of the table; something he reached for with a stiff, jarking movement of his own. Their hands collided against the cool glass, fingers placed atop one another as they fused in place for a second. The men stared at each other for that moment before Hillbilly drew his touch away.

Andy released his grip and allowed Eddie to take an unsteady sip of his lemonade.

“We had to survey the situation beyond the ridge.” He explained. “Belly crawl up to the summit, lift our head a few inches above the parapet; Try and get something - anything – from those couple of seconds.”

It was almost amusing the way Ack Ack recounted the tale. As if he had been an NCO, ordered to risk himself for the continuation of their objective. Rather than a Captain volunteering for a danger his men were supposed to undertake, leading from the front as always.

“Guess it was just an unlucky couple of seconds.” Andy said mournfully.

As he looked down at his hands, Eddie’s gaze drifted up to the scar on the man’s temple. The only significant change to the face he knew so well, one that could not be explained away by age or lack of sleep. A clean, pale scar over a patch of mottled skin. Surgery over wound.

Hillbilly’s mouth was dry as he spoke in a quiet rasp.

“Sniper?”

With a bitter smile, Andy nodded.

“ _Sniper_.”

 

 

 

They talked until the jug sat empty on the white table, drained under the falling afternoon sun. Small talk, not real talk; at least, nothing real after catching up on old wounds. It wasn’t a topic either seemed comfortable to dwell on for extended periods. Not yet.

Mrs. Haldane came to refill their glasses as evening approached. She may have gotten impatient simply watching.

Andrew invited her to sit. She positioned herself opposite Eddie, her son separating her and the stranger who knew her boy so well.

“Mama, this is _First Lieutenant Edward Jones_.” Ack Ack had started.

His hand rested on Eddie’s upper arm, squeezing the muscle there supportively. It helped drain away his fear.

“He was my second in K Company. He was wounded on Peleliu.”

It proved best not to complicate the description with more accurate terms. The basics were enough, and she nodded in understanding. The last addition certainly bled away even the traces of hostility she still held for her guest. Another wounded marine left no need for comparison to what had befallen her son.

“It’s a pleasure, Lieutenant.” She said, extending her hand to him.

Eddie took it standing, kissing it politely much to Andy’s poorly concealed joy.

“Pleasure’s all mine, m’aam.” Hillbilly said, embarrassed as he sat back down.

Mrs. Haldane seemed unphased, almost approving as she nodded appreciatively. She leant over the hands folded in her lap, scrutinising her visitor as she spoke.

“Where are you _from_ , Lieutenant Jones?” If she slowed her words a little, only Andy seemed to notice. _Visibly_ , at least - the only one of the three who looked at her with a twitch of his cheek and the slightest concern hidden behind his eyes.

Eddie, on the other hand, was untouched by the tone. It didn’t change the reluctance of his answer.

“West Virginia, m’aam. Mingo County.”

It was an expected response. Still, it was different when confirmed, admitted like a church confession.

“My, that’s quite a way to travel.”

There was no mention of the fact that one of the marines present hadn’t returned to his home upon arrival in the States. Hillbilly didn’t think it necessary to correct her.

“Yes, m’aam. But I enjoyed the drive.”

“I’d hope Lawrence was worth it.”

With a genuine smile, Eddie’s shoulders relaxed for a moment. He looked to Andy.

“Reunion certainly was.” He admitted, “I’m real happy t’see Captain Haldane well.”

Andy glanced back down at his hands. Hillbilly might have mistook it for embarrassment had he not held the man in such high regard.

“How long are you in Massachusetts, Eddie?” Ack Ack asked, pointedly making a move towards the more important questions. Always a leader, even here.

“I-“ Eddie took a pause to collect his thoughts, gaze moving between the two expectant eyes on him. “I planned on gettin’ a motel… f’ a couple a’ nights.” He lied.

As well as his old girl parked street-side was serving him, it wasn’t a bedding situation he wanted to broadcast.

Andy turned to his mother with a raised eyebrow. Mrs. Haldane scoffed.

“Of course not. You’re welcome to stay here.” She explained. Lacking cruelty but rather speaking to a child, laying out an adult concept beyond their understanding. “So long as you can convince Andrew to share his bedroom.”

Andy laughed.

“I think we can manage.”

 

 

 

Setting up the spare mattress in Andy’s room was a good distraction. It left them alone again, Mrs. Haldane busy downstairs preparing dinner for what was now going to be three hungry men.

Despite being once again in privacy – even greater than that of the garden – Eddie found the conversation still floating on the surface of the water. The ocean of questions, confessions, real talk and real topics, remained unbroken by the relative seclusion they had retreated to.

Comfortable, _yes_. Open, _no_.

Much of the preparations were completed in a content silence, interrupted by the occasional chatter or objective instruction. Ack Ack handled the pillowcases whilst Hillbilly tucked the sheets over the borrowed bed.

It gave Eddie an excuse to take in Andy’s bedroom. The first door up the stairs, it faced the front of the house. Visible to the American Flag and slanting roof over the porch, a couple of windows to watch the street below. Pretty, sheer curtains sheltered the insides of the room, though there wasn’t much to hide. A cast iron bed – double sized – with cream covers. Nothing else apart from several unopened boxes and a dresser, with a washboard wardrobe built into one wall. The mirror sat opposite the bed frame, reflecting their operation.

Eddie had to take note of the pillows that sprawled over Ack Ack’s mattress; all seven of them. Some piled atop others, a few strewn around. It fit with the crumpled duvet. Who knew Andy would be so unregimented when it came to making up his bed?

“I hope you don’t mind if I take some of the additions from the bed.”

The blond broke the silence as he fluffed one of the new pillows between his palms, tossing it against the bed frame. Eddie looked at him with a simple confusion.

“Take ‘em where?”

“Onto the floor.”

The realisation had Hillbilly inhaling deeply, straightening up as his hands immediately landed on his hips.

“ _No_.”

“You’re a guest here, Eddie.” Andy laughed, looking over his shoulder with a knowing and yet cheeky grin, “It’s only fair-“

“Ain’t nuttin’ fair ‘bout it.” Eddie interrupted, “As the rankin’ officder-“

“We’re not playing that game.” Ack Ack countered.

“As the man openin’ up his home-“ Hillbilly exchanged, following through with a change of tune, “I’d feel rotten takin’ y’bed from ye’. I’m grateful f’ the gesture, but I refuse, sir.”

Andy sighed.

“I thought we weren’t playing that game.” He said, chewing over the ‘ _sir_ ’ that fell so instinctively from Eddie’s lips.

The sound of the front door unlocking broke up whatever kind of fractured conversation they were hoping to uphold. Voices downstairs had their gazes meeting, all arguments forgotten as Hillbilly looked to his Captain with fresh apprehension.

Andy yielded.

“We can fight about it later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mama" was the commonly used term for mother/mum prior to the 1940s. Only then did 'mum' become used and 'mama' was seen as old fashioned. But then, Andy's an old fashioned type of guy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie must brave conversation with his Captain's parents. And then with Andy, too.

A light wind had taken the warm evening air; June was fast approaching. Red and white stripes unfurled peacefully against the current, drifting in the watery nothing that bathed the fabric. Refusing to be out shone, flowers had begun to rise from the lawn out front. Colour had wasted no time in stealing back the state of Massachusetts, tearing apart the black and white photos of soldiers, sailors, and pilots.

The sun was setting so late in the day, now. It was as if they had all the time in the world to spare.

Yet Eddie still wished he’d taken a moment to change into his Dress Blues. Or worn them to the doorstep altogether, as if he’d had any concept of what those long, slow hours would meanander him towards; this terrifying scene.

A sturdy dining table - big enough for six, but clearly only familiar with three. White tablecloth laden with neatly sewn patterns of lace and flowers, so elegant looking where it brushed against his slacks. (How he desperately wished it were meeting blue rather than dirty, forest green.) The temptation to fist his hands against the fabric did not slip his mind, if only to calm his sweaty palms. Eddie resisted; Sat, straight-backed, against one of the Haldane’s dining chairs – wooden frame digging into his tense muscles and frail wicker back failing to cushion his weight.

And beside him - less than two man’s width away – sat Andrew’s father.

It shouldn’t have been an intimidating sight.

The man was something traditional; neither a meek, weedy figure not a huge, towering giant. Comfortably tall, maybe an inch less so than his son, and _several_ inches less so than his guest. A strong jaw that was impeccably shaven, cleaned right up to the straight cut of his trimmed moustache. Combed, of course, like his locks. His top lip showed greying blond, beneath a straight nose, and finally two dark, brown eyes.

The dull colour was surprisingly. Hillbilly couldn’t quite place why.

Regardless, the stare that accompanied those eyes was enough to wipe the slate free of all other features. The softness of age did not match the piercing light that Eddie found shining him down, unhindered by the wrinkles that mapped the man’s skin. Even the small circular panes of his spectacles did nothing to ease his presence.

They shook hands when Mrs. Haldane called her son and unexpected guest down for dinner.

Eddie had felt so cripplingly unprepared. So much so that he’d excused himself apologetically to the bathroom whilst Andy descended the stares, taking refuge in the safe upper floor of the house. The toilet seat remained shut. Nothing could come of him trying to use it, not with the strangling knot currently destroying his stomach.

Inside, his hands found his tie. A tug, twist, and sharp pull left it uncomfortably tight, his collar smoothed down to match. Next, his sleeves; rolled back to their original place at his wrists. A frustrated hum, barely above the silence of the bathroom, escaped Hillbilly as he saw the creases that lined the wool, wrinkling bashfully as he roughly flattened them under his fingers. No effect stuck, so he moved anxiously onto his jacket.

It returned to his shoulders as a noose. Heavy, _unwanted_ , and certainly holding as great a burden as it had that morning. His buttons slipped painfully under his sweaty fingers. Getting the ornate metal through their correct holes began an ordeal in itself. His brow felt hot, droplets on his temples.

Had he the time, he might ask himself why this had become such a torturous exercise. Why he had made it such a trial, perhaps.

The world knew why, continuing to turn despite his desire for it to stop then and there. Silently judging his every move, no matter the insignificance. Bastard.

He’d followed Andy down the stairs shortly. Left the security of the bathroom behind to move downwards, straight into the long hallway that faced the house’s entrance. A space now shedding an orange glow through the window panes and a yellow light from the flickering wall fixings.

That was where he’d first seen Lynn Haldane. Stopped at attention just past the bottom step, nodded respectfully and given a stiff salute.

The gesture changed nothing about the other man’s easy smile.

(Eddie had seen that smile in the fire and brimstone of Peleliu. It did not signify any lapse in danger.)

Approaching with the confidence only the true owner of the home could achieve, Lynn offered Hillbilly his hand. Stiff fingers were forced to relax, retreating from Eddie’s temple to accept the greeting; a firm squeeze and a single, masculine shake.

_Testing_. Skidding a stone across the waters just to watch it sink.

“You must be Lieutenant Jones.”

“Yes’ir.” A hard swallow to relieve his throat, “A pleasure t’meet you.”

Eddie had always preferred saluting his superiors over shaking civilian’s hands. Simplified the process; you couldn’t test what you couldn’t touch.

“Andrew’s talked of you for quite some time.” The other man admitted, “Welcome to our home.”

Before their guest could become truly embarrassed, Mrs. Haldane ushered them all towards the garden. Through the hall, not quite to the kitchen, and into the dining room where Eddie’s gallows had been prepared.

Lynn sat with his back to the garden, at the head of the table. His wife sat to his right and Andy – hand lingering for a moment on his comrade’s shoulder – sat beside her.

It left Hillbilly to circle the table, garrison cap laid carefully against the cloth, and place himself at Mr. Haldane’s left. He waited patiently for his caretakers to all sit before he pulled out his chair.

“Smells excellent as always, Deborah.” Mr. Haldane commented as he adjusted his spectacles, taking a moment to smile at his wife, “Hope an extra mouth didn’t cause too much trouble.”

Mrs. Haldane laughed dismissively as Eddie felt his cheeks bubbling, hot under the shame.

“Pay no mind to him,” She placated. She addressed her guest yet her gaze focused upon fixing her dress, “If there were any fault at all, it would certainly lie with Andrew.”

Out of the corner of his rigid stare, Hillbilly felt Andy’s warm grin on him for a moment in response.

“So it would.” Lynn agreed.

The steam rising from his plate brought the small talk to a close. Eyes downcast, the oldest man’s fingers wove themselves together. He rested his wrists against the table. Andy followed suit.

Mrs. Haldane folded hers into her lap. Her eyes closed, but Eddie couldn’t ignore the distinct huff that was cleverly disguised as a sigh. He instead looked to forcing his own hands together in prayer. The gesture felt terrible, least of all because of how casual it all seemed. Hillbilly neglected to bow his head and rest his brow against his fingers, just as his daddy had always demanded of him. Forcefully, if needed.

Eyes closed and mouths shut would be enough under this roof.

“Bless us, please, oh Lord,” Lynn uttered simply, each syllable sharp and precise, “And for what we are about to receive may you make us truly grateful. _Amen_.”

Brought back with a sudden crisp closing word, Eddie had to blink away his bemusement. A distinct sense of anticlimax filled his veins. Alas, knives and forks had already begun making soft clinks against porcelain as each Haldane made moves against their dinner. Hands drawing back from their position of prayer, Hillbilly took up his cutlery as if it were a loaded rifle, and moved his eyes to his food.

A healthy cut of fish pie – homemade, of course – beside a generous pile of succotash greeted him. Steam fogged his vision from staring and he hastily made a move to dig in, taking one last glance as his hosts to ensure they were also eating. Satisfied they were, Eddie took a helping of pastry and vegetables into his mouth.

It was truly as excellent as it had been described.

“So, Lieutenant,” Lynn began, perfectly timed with the closing of Hillbilly’s lips around the fork.

Any other man employing such a tactic would have Eddie chewing with _distain_.

“Were you and Andrew at Quantico together?”

Mr. Haldane’s eyes bore into his temple. Mrs. Haldane looked on with a simple interest. Both might have been searching for a little more about their son’s time away from home, for all the details he could never tell them. As if another voice, a spectator to what they cared about, could give an explanation.

_Impossible_.

Eddie finished his mouthful with a hum, swallowing as he turned his gaze politely from his food to the man who addressed him.

“’fraid not, sir.” He looked briefly to Andy, who was watching the pair with an uncomfortable interest, “We was officially introduced on Cape Gloucester.”

“ _Officially?_ ”

“Yes’ir.”

“Eddie was transferred to K Company as my Second.” Andy confirmed.

Lynn let out a soft hum. One of approval. He swallowed his mouthful of pie, nodding as he gestured with his fork.

“If not Quantico then,” He continued, “Where did you attend Officer’s School, Lieutenant?”

Ah. _Quantico_. The Marine Corps Base, with Officer’s Training School to match.

The question left a moment of pause to fill the air, rising with the steam and stagnating as their plates turned colder with every mouthful. It was a blessing to have the food there; to use it as a smokescreen behind which Eddie could hide the sinking feeling that took hold of his chest. Another fork pull of vegetables conveniently stopping him from speaking was an excellent reprieve, and an even better excuse.

For how he blinked, could no longer hold Mr. Haldane’s gaze. How his eyes darted uneasily down, at his plate, at the floor, back to a speck of fluff on the tablecloth – anywhere but into the expectant abyss of that man’s features. Mrs. Haldane was little better, chewing on her pie before looking up, as expectant as her husband.

And Andy – _oh, Andy_. Hillbilly couldn’t bring himself to spare so much as a glance his way.

He knew what he’d find, could picture it in vibrant hues. Sympathetic eyes, full of concern, full of apologies undeserved. Full of _embarrassment_ , caused by the very person he had eagerly welcomed into his home.

(Had he taken the time to check, Eddie might have noticed that it wasn’t him Andy stared towards. It was across the table, to its head – and his gaze was full of anything but sympathy.)

“I-“ Hillbilly cleared his throat, “I didn’t go t’Officer’s School.”

Another pause, lacking silence like the last. Interrupted by the clinking of cutlery and the soft swish of fabric and the buzz of the lights. Cooing bird outside marked the sun dropping below the horizon. None of it was loud enough to rip the mocking laughter beating against Eddie’s skull.

Lynn sipped his drink. His eyes were shadows, _masked_ , retreating behind his spectacles.

“Mnn.” He swallowed, his brow creased in honest confusion, “But you _are_ a First Lieutennant-?”

“ _Battlefield Commission_.” Andy uttered around the food he was chewing.

His father ignored him, looking only at Hillbilly.

“Yes, I-“ A surprised glance at Ack Ack – quickly returned to Lynn upon better judgement – punctuated Eddie’s response, “I was given m’ commission on Guadalcanal. I was ‘n enlisted man ‘fore then.”

 “You must have spent quite some time in the Corps.” Mr. Haldane deduced.

“Yes’ir.” The Lieutennant said. His words were almost mournful. “Ten years.”

An admission that had each of his hosts motions slowing to a halt, forks held frozen halfway between their plates and lips. Again, Hillbilly refused to read Andy’s reaction. For the life of him he couldn’t remember if he’d told the man such a detail. Or, more horribly, whether he’d lied about it.

Instead, Eddie turned his eyes forcefully upon Lynn. A hard stare; one every man in K Company had come to know. And every man in Fox Company before them. And every mouthy fucker he’d shared his barracks with back at Boot Camp too.

Steel and fire in an unmovable eruption that expressed _exactly_ how many inches he would move on a topic, a debate, or an order. _A fat-fucking-zero._

Mr. Haldane sipped his drink once more. Sat back in his chair, cutlery laid to rest for a moment as he nodded. Spectacles were carefully removed, scrubbed against the fabric of his shirt cuff.

When his eyes returned to Hillbilly, they were no longer shielded by panes of glass.

“Then I must thank you for your long service, Lieutenant.” Lynn said.

It was difficult for Eddie to hear.

Because he’d never heard it before.

It must have shown. Maybe in his wide eyes; glassy and confused, or the way his lips parted as if he might speak, but no words could muster. Either way, Mrs. Haldane read it as it was; a topic too weighty for the dinner table.

“That’s enough, Lynn.” She scolded playfully, “This young man didn’t haul himself all the way to Lawrence to talk about last year’s war.”

A soft chuckle erupted across the table, the tension diminished as the subject was quietly omitted from the evening’s agenda. Eddie took a moment to breathe, lean back and straighten his jacket before continuing with his pie. Now cold, but he would never complain. A full course meal was far beyond his usual window of experience. He relished every mouthful – hot, tepid, or cold as the grave.

The discussion moved onto Lynn’s shortcomings of always attempting some form of debate across his wife’s fine cooked dinner. Appropriately, and confident that he could make no worse disturbances than he already had, Eddie made sure to compliment Mrs. Haldane’s cooking. Perhaps a little crudely, but she seemed pleased enough to let it slide.

From fish pie, they moved to the garden. And from there, to the city beyond the tree line.

“Lieutennant Jones is from West Virginia.” Mrs. Haldane explained.

Lynn sent her a look that spoke volumes as to how obvious that information was. A slight bump in proceedings for their guest, who’s shoulders tensed just a little, suddenly extremely conscious of the thick, rough twangs of his accent once again.

“Is this your first time in Lawrence?” Mr. Haldane asked. His frown was one of curiosity.

“Yes’ir.”

“Oh, Andrew-!” Mrs. Haldane cooed, her hand moving to grip her son’s arm, “You must show our guest around town.”

Her husband smiled fondly into his glass. Andy looked to his mother with the same adoration.

“He won’t be here forever – oh, of course you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Lieutenant –“ (Eddie managed a cheerful “Y’ too kind, m’amm.” between her cries.) “But he’s come such a long way; it’d be ghastly for him not to be given a tour!”

A glance at his father revealed a highly approving nod from his father, leaving Andy to turn back to their guest with a warm grin. His mother still clung to his arm, jostling him playfully, as if his pause for thought were causing her mock-pain.

“If Eddie’s open to the idea…” The Captain said, expecting his Lieutenant to finish for him.

Eddie scoffed, a noise of genuine offense erupting from his throat.

“An’ miss the honour of a Grand Tour by m’ former Captain?”

He looked to Mrs. Haldane then, who lent on her hand and returned his gaze with an affectionate stare, terribly pleased by his agreement. Hillbilly shook his head, as if horrified by the implication he would decline such a request.

“I’d be mad!”

The words left Andy beaming.

 

 

 

Mr. and Mrs. Haldane retired early. The working week hadn’t changed for a war; it wouldn’t change for an uninvited guest. Lynn disappeared up the stairs as his wife lingered in the kitchen doorway, her son assuring her that he would take care of the dishes. Each stair creaked softly as she ascended them, leaving the bottom floor in a relative silence.

Crickets had already begun to sing across the grass, just beyond the window pane. The flag had fallen still; it would be a quiet night.

“Y’ mothers a fine cook.” Eddie said.

Metal squeaked where Andy’s palm gripped the tap, letting the water begin its plummet into the basin. Warm moonlight illuminated his face where it reflected off the white porcelain, the window beginning to cloud with steam from the bowl.

“I certainly can’t dispute the fact.” He agreed, “Her mother taught her everything she knew. It’s funny; even now I can still remember the smells I would come home to when grandma visited.”

Turning off the tap with another squeak, the Captain opened the buttons of his shirt cuffs. The fabric was folded back, up to his elbows. Eddie pulled off his jacket. Andy noticed. He let out a breathless laugh, hanging his head.

“Eddie, you don’t-“

Eddie gave an interrupting grunt, brow furrowed as he continued rolling up his sleeves.

“Can’t wash up, can’t take the floor –“ His tie was left untouched, uniform immaculate besides his bare forearms as he turned his stare on his host, “Startin’ t’ wonder if y’think I’m some kind’a invalid.”

Instead of meeting his playful glare, Andy’s gaze moved upward. To the window pane, now foggy from the hot water beneath. The surface of his eyes reflected it; the blurry, unfocused glass, the swirls of evaporating vapour. An image lacking clarity, just as the water lacked solidity.

He didn’t speak. Merely took one of the dinner plates from the counter and submerged it in the heat.

Eddie looked on silently. His frown had fallen away an age ago. Only concern filled his eyes, his head, his chest. Not his mouth, however, sealed shut in fear of disturbing their new found peace.

He could of sworn that expression was one of pain.

“Will you dry for me, then?” Andy asked suddenly. His voice was as persuasive and kind as it had ever been.

He turned his gaze back to Hillbilly with a smile. The spell broke; whatever tension had held such an incredible man in silence torn away by his own determination. It was inspiring to witness, even within the confines of the small kitchen.

Eddie responded in turn. A lopsided grin took his lips and he took up his place at his Captain’s side. Hip to hip, belt loops brushing occasionally. He took the towel offered to him.

“Sure.”

 

 

 

Dishes cleaned and stacked to dry, the pair retired to Andy’s bedroom. The moonlight illuminated their path as they crept up the stairs like frightened teenagers, both appreciating the humour in it; Two grown men, being so tentative with their footsteps so as not to wake the parents of the house. It left crooked grins on their faces as they squeezed through the door and let it click hesitantly shut behind them, sealing their voices away behind the safety of four walls.

The sheer curtains did not deter the crisp, cold light that created jagged angles across their features in the dark.

Not that it mattered; they’d worked under less light, with more obstacles. Eddie folded his jacket neatly, placing it defiantly beside the makeshift bed on the floor. Andy stopped where he was removing his belt, tossing it onto the spare mattress in retaliation.

The pair shared a look, both of their expression equally unimpressed. Ack Ack’s arms folded themselves leisurely across his chest. If not for the scenery, they could have been back at Pavuvu’s shooting range.

“ _Eddie_.”

The taller man had no reaction, arms fallen by his sides and features lifeless.

“ _Captain_.”

Andy’s eyes closed slowly, only opening halfway as his shoulders rolled in a weighty sigh. It was no illusion; he truly did look unimpressed.

Eddie held firm, frown unwavering.

He expected a debate, maybe even an argument – muffled by whispers, of course, didn’t want to wake their elders. What he got was far more agonising that he could predict, unprepared in the shadows of the starlit sky.

From his position beside the wall, surveying the man standing beside his own bed, Hillbilly watched his Captain’s features crumble.

It started with his brow, unable to afford the upkeep of such a stern and unamused frown. His pale eyebrows softened, just as his eyes fell towards the floor. Toppling downwards, like he couldn’t bear to meet Eddie’s eyes. Or look at Eddie at all, in fact, even in the heavy shadows that submerged the bedroom. Andy’s forearms began to relax, drawing back from his chest. Yet his shoulders seemed more deflated than ever, hands remaining tight against his chest.

He looked small for once.

“I don’t want to pry,” Andy asked, “But do you feel more at ease calling me ‘ _Captain_ ’, even here?”

Pain erupted in Eddie’s temples. His jaw clenched hard enough to shatter, the question so innocent yet so insidious. To himself alone – Andrew would never seek to strike out against him with his words. Lord in Heaven knew it would cripple his Lieutenant easier than any hand, blade, or bullet could.

Yet Andy wasn’t looking at him, eyes still turned away. Afraid of his reaction; afraid of confirmation. Afraid of a lie to smooth over the topic.

Afraid of something Eddie might say.

It left a terrible, bitter taste in Hillbilly’s mouth. He chest lurched a fraction as he gagged, covering it skilfully with his teeth on his tongue. Copper replaced that black sensation in his mouth, blood erupting from where he’d bitten himself too hard. Anything to cover whatever nauseous feeling had taken him.

It wasn’t that Eddie _couldn’t_ answer.

It was that he didn’t want to. And that tore at what remained of his resolve most; the thought of so blatantly keeping something from this man. Especially when he had been kind enough to ask, despite his obvious reservations.

How much lower could he could possibly sink, Hillbilly didn’t know. Only the most wretched of people could be so cruel as to consider lying to his Captain. And there he was; opening his mouth to lie.

The truth was just too much.

_I call you Captain because I thought you were dead. I prepared for a funeral._

_I call you Captain because I thought you might be married. I prepared for rejection._

_I call you Captain because I thought you would want to leave the past – our past – behind in the mud. Left in the dirt it came from. I prepared to be turned away from this place. Instead, I’m in your home, offered warmth, food, a place to sleep for the night._

_But then, you always were one to give up your bed for a leper, weren’t you?_

It was all too much for Eddie’s mouth to force out. Barbed wire was grating his throat as he tried, his own features breaking down as his brow contorted into one of aguish. It hurt – _Jesus_ , his heart was bashing itself against his ribs. Desperate for the tiniest bump in the bone to puncture it, have him bleed out and lose consciousness in seconds. It’d keep pumping all the while, his heart, relishing the release. It would help him die.

How Andy could look at him then, but not a moment ago, Hillbilly could never understand. His normally filthy and rough features made an ugly display when he dared show such a weak emotion as pain.

But look his Captain did. It was enough.

“I-“ Eddie used every inch of air in his lungs to get out just a single shuddering word, his breath drawing in sharply through teeth gritted in discomfort, “I thought-“

_Dead. Married. Ready to move on._ Everything you could aspire to be and I could never have.

_I thought you were above me._

The longing stare Andy sent him was the only source of strength Eddie found to draw on. The light reflecting in those clear, shimmering eyes fuelled his push, dragging the thorns from his throat, through blood and bile. This man had dragged him through the mud and over one ridge after another; the least he could do was tell him the truth. It was so much less than he deserved, yet it was everything Hillbilly had to give.

So he’d give it. Of course, he’d give it. He’d give it all and more.

“Though y’ wouldn’… want t’see me…” Eddie whispered.

His features still drawn into that ugly face of pain, he could only watch and wait for his own destruction. For any reaction Andy might bestow upon him, whether it forced him out the front door or threw him from the window. Anything would satisfy beyond silence.

Andy’s voice shook as he spoke.

“Eddie-!” He said – breathless, his words more water than sound, “ _Eddie_ , I-“

Sharp pain turned to a deep ache of confusion. Everything turned upon its head, Hillbilly’s shuddering chest drawing in another breath. His head moved side to side in desperation, the cogs grinding against each other as they failed to harmonise. He didn’t understand; he so fatally wanted to understand.

“ _Eddie_ ,” Andy tried again.

His voice had found a level of relative stability.

“Eddie, what we had out there-“ A bladed halt sliced the sentence to shreds, replaced by Andy’s own design, “What we _have_ -“

_Was just circumstance. Is just a fantasy_. Say it.

Fingers dug into the bare skin of Hillbilly’s forearms. He was gripped by warm hands, drawing his wide eyes up to the face of the man holding him. Holding him, with the force of a vice and the desperation of the dying. _Fitting_ ; Eddie felt like he was dying.

He looked to his Captain for an answer. Andy delivered. He always delivered.

“- is the most important thing to ever happen to me.” He said.

He said it to Eddie, and to Eddie alone. Directly into his face, their bodies now so close, joined only by that painful grip.

Andy’s eyes were fleeting, searching his face for a reaction. A front row seat, to watch the confusion die and for the tide of realisation to wash over Hillbilly’s skin. It soaked into his pores, sending a different signal to his rapidly thumping heart.

_Stop_. And it might have obeyed.

It certainly felt like it, as the tiniest of crooked smiles took too Eddie’s face. A momentary expression of relief, of elated joy, was all Andy needed to recognise a mutual understanding. (Andy always was smart. Smarter than Eddie. Smart, and charismatic, and brave, and handsome. Smart and kind and _perfect_.)

Those desperate fingers left his forearms and moved themselves into the forest of curls sprouting from Eddie’s scalp. The movement matched the lips pushed against his, Andy spurring himself forward to force a heavy kiss upon the pair. Hillbilly would never complain, even as his back hit the wall with a thump and his skull stung from the impact.

It had been noted to him that muscle memories from combat – the fixes of a rifle, the adjustments of a mortar, the sharp defences of a marine awoken in the middle of the night – never left a man.

Eddie certainly agreed, though it was not a fighting reflex that had his hands grabbing Andy’s empty belt loops, tugging him closer with every ounce of strength he had left. Their slacks ground together, buckle clinking buttons as those hands in his hair turned to fists.

A heavy but chaste kiss turned _rough_ – the warm sunshine over Cape Gloucester turned to a howling storm. Even real rain couldn’t calm the heat of their mouths, teeth catching as they desperately searched for each other’s tongues. Only the tiniest breaks were taken for heavy draws of air, before they repeated the dance, heads angled to better lap at the inside of their partner’s mouth.

It was reflex, for sure. Only Eddie never remembered either of their cheeks being wet, at least not with anything that tasted so salty and warm.

Andy’s hands left his hair; his hips were their next stop. That hard grip crushed the fabric of his shirt as he was grabbed, Eddie’s own hands releasing the man’s belt loops to instead take his cheeks under his palms. Wet tears caressed his skin and _oh_ , that had him choking back a desperate sob.

He had never wanted to see Andrew cry, least of all over a man like him. (Had he been a spectator and not an accessory to it all, Hillbilly would have told his Captain such a boy wasn’t worth it, son of a bitch didn’t deserve his remorse.)

Eyes closed for the kiss was enough of an excuse not to look, but he could surely _feel_. The pads of his thumbs ran over Ack Ack’s damp cheeks, longing to scrub those stains away. It had Eddie leaning forward, pushing his tongue into Andy’s wanting mouth, moving his lips as if to show him just how sorry he was.

A hard tug from his Captain had Hillbilly’s dress shirt falling free of his pants. Sweaty, _familiar_ fingers ran up his waist, over his ribs.

Over the horrible, ugly scar tissue that spanned the entirety of his right side. The kissing stopped.

Slowly, Andy pulled away. His hands stayed.

Their eyes met in a tearful reunion, though neither of them had let anymore fall since their lips had met. Eddie looked ashamed of what could be felt beneath the perfect fingers of his Captain. Mottled skin, burned and blistered by explosives and peppered with hard scars – nothing someone lucky enough to have Andy’s hands on then should possess.

Ack Ack felt differently.

“I swore you weren’t breathing…” He whispered, his breath tickling Hillbilly’s lips. His gaze flickered to something a thousand miles away, replaying the scene over in his head. “ _I thought_ …”

They both knew what he’d thought. Neither let it slip from their throats, as if it might undo all the circumstances that had led them here.

Eddie’s fingers moved to brush Andy’s temple. The smallest of flinches marked his hand to freeze. He’d found the scar.

Hillbilly traced it under his thumb. From raised, white tissue on his forehead from the impact, up along the fine surgery incision that ran all the way into the man’s hair, right over his skull.

“ _We both did_.” Eddie managed. It was enough.

It had always been enough. Andy’s head shook just a fraction, his smile watery and full of disbelief.

“I’m so glad to see you, Eddie.”

Between his hands grabbing Andy’s jaw and their lips finding each other again, Hillbilly managed to speak.

“You too, Andy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a while and I am so sorry, really hope that hadn't put anyone off reading!! All comments greatly appreciated, as always!! 
> 
> I found myself torn between making Andy's parents terrible or amazing. They're a middle ground, though they lean more towards the latter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie realises things between him Andy will never be the same as they were in the Pacific - for better or worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the long update time, I swear I love writing this fic more than breathing but unfortunately, University work has been getting in the way.

There’d been blisters, on more than just their feet. When they sailed free from Cape Gloucester, laid out in their stockings and t-shirts across the Navy’s metal deck. The sun hadn’t given up tormenting them since Guadalcanal, it refused to disappear for anything short of a divine wind, forcing rainclouds across its glare. If there was a distinct smell of sweat, old or new, no marine mentioned it. It’d be miraculous if any of them could even register it anymore.

The pair of officers – a First and Second Lieutenant, respectively – had been given one shaded alcove of the ship’s taffrail. Out of respect for their rank, they imagined. A small nod to those who had led King Company through those soaking jungles.

The marines around them slept. Some with faces turned towards the sun, scorching under its gaze – others curled up, shielded by their hands. Cushioned on one another without a moment’s thought, without an ounce of hesitation.

Exhaustion only broke civilian bonds down further, already weak under combat fatigue. It rebuilt stronger, less dignified ones in their place.

As dull blue eyes watched the winch ropes sway, Second Lieutenant Jones listened to the sea. (He still felt uncomfortable with the title, lost in its size and weight. He’d earned it, but he didn’t suit it.)

Waves rolled over each other behind him, the sound marking their departure from a faithful depiction of Hell. Sweetly crashing against the sides of the boat, coaxing him to sleep. They were nothing compared to the soft breathing against his neck. Nowhere near as loud.

And the waves didn’t have his heart racing.

First Lieutenant Haldane had waited for the majority of his men to fall asleep, before allowing his head to slowly sink against Eddie’s shoulder. Supporting his weight, cushioning his head and mop of dirty hair. Beneath his locks, his brow was finally relieved of its constant crease of concern. Free of the war, for a moment.

Well, in some sense. Not _free_ , but distracted. One of them by sleep, the other by the sleeping.

Hillbilly would have been content to sit and watch the sky pass overhead indefinitely. Forever, if God intended it. (Perhaps he’d slipped beneath the waters of Gloucester’s streams, or succumbed to malaria in reality. His firm belief that he would be wandering surely _downwards_ after death was all that kept him from considering the idea.)

The world saw fit to reward him, instead. Or rather, Andy did; adjusting his head against his living cushion with a soft hum. The fingers of his hand, black with dirt around the nails and stained with mud, slid further into the private crevasse between the pair. Formed of their outstretched legs, a valley of green cotton and two undisturbed arms, left boneless from exhaustion.

It was here that Andrew entwined his fingers with Eddie’s, threading their hands together in the unseen shadow of their bodies. Flesh knotted with dirty flesh, gripped tight despite how it ached to do so.

There was no force strong enough to keep Hillbilly’s sigh of relief at bay, to stop him resting his blistered temple against the warmth of Andy’s hair.

They’d sung hymns on the trip towards Gloucester. Heaven had been silent, until now. It descended for but a blissful intake of breath, formed in the heat of Andrew’s hand on his and the lull of sleep that took the pair to darkness. A warm darkness, neither frozen cold nor burning hot.

A darkness, Eddie knew then, he would follow Andy into forever, should he ask.

He remembered waking up as they came to Pavuvu, but not the walk over the dock. The feel of the sand had been so unnatural, as if shards of glass were dragging him to their depths, compared with the hardened jungle roots of the Cape.

Marine upon marine had marched into the rickety, desolate encampment. Each of them had gazed upon it fondly, humbled by their previous lodgings. A gleaming New York hotel sparkled in their eyes. The rotten coconuts had been cleaned away. There was no finer accommodation than those huts on Pavuvu.

An angel bellowed from on high, breaking off the final shackles of combat. ‘ _Go and get your chow_.’

It was Andy. Of course, who else would be so kind. What might have been a cheer rippled through the rows of men, the lurching of bodies enough to cover the firm grip that took to Hillbilly’s sleeve.

“ _Lieutenant_.” The owner of the hand had said, as Eddie drew his eyes over the man’s face, “Do you have a moment?”

Hillbilly didn’t remember his response. Possibly a grunt or incredibly witty remark.

All he could hear was how adamantly he had spoken in his mind, left undiscovered in his personal silence. _I have all the time ‘n the world f’ you._

A hand on his lower back – friendly, _supportive_ , keeping a limping and unsteady comrade upright despite Hillbilly being neither – had guided him towards the officers’ tents. Bigger (marginally) and darker than the enlisted counterparts. Eddie often found his fingers lingering on the heavy canvas in awe.

Not today, however. The sun hung low in the sky, a position quickly matched by his dungarees as they crumpled to the sandy ground. The tarp door had barely fallen shut before Andy’s lips were on his, tugging desperately at his webbing. Pants and underwear fell away long before their pistol belts did, grasping blindly at each other’s thighs, heavy handed and without pause for air. Eddie had to laugh.

The smell of sweat returned to them that evening, as time drew on and their bare skin remained pressed against each other’s.

It was crude, unseemly. A rough and reckless fuck, with barely enough time to slide a condom on Andy’s cock before Eddie’s knees were bent up to his shoulders. Careless, effective.

An incident to remember. It left them breathless.

 

 

 

The bedrooms pale wall felt cool against his back, shoulder blades laid bare as his shirt was left to slide towards the floor. A broad chest, mottled with the dark lines of ink to contrast with the pale skin of scars, still held proudly up to Marine standard.

Eddie couldn’t hide how it unnerved him. The cold had no part in his visible recoiling, chin lowered as if to hide behind his unruly curls. Away from Andy’s warm lips and pleasurable kisses, mores the pity. Arms tightening against his sides despite the grip he refused to slacken against his Captain’s waist.

_It wasn’t the same._

The Pacific, despite its raging sunshine, had been a dark place. Shadowed tents and murky foxholes and caving buildings and _Melbourne_ bars. There was no light to see, no time to pick apart the details. There was a war on, boys. _There was a war on._

There was no war here. Not anymore, and it laid the reality of both men before the moonlight, highlighted in the cold tones streaming through the lace curtain.

Andy, of course, had nothing to hide. He was as handsome as he’d ever been, scar and all. The moon’s light bathed him as it would an artist’s sculpture, cascading off every angle of his face and wrinkle of his clothes. He was dusted in a white glow, strength meeting beauty where it would in marble.

Even protected by the man’s shadow – Andy’s back to the distant window – Eddie felt unworthy.

It had occurred to him on the long drive that he was not the only option available anymore, though he suspected he never had been. This was not circumstance; they were both free to seek better, brighter horizons.

Andy wasn’t leaving yet. He had no intention to. His hands unclipping Eddie’s belt buckle made sure this was understood, and the taller of the two failed to hold back his pleased hum. It was followed by a bend at his knees, Hillbilly intending to lower himself down to the floor. Take his Captain in his mouth, let him fuck his face against the wall if he wanted. Whatever he liked, Eddie would be struggling not cum regardless.

A tender grip took his forearm before he could enact his idea, Andy’s eyes meeting his over the inch or so between them. Strong fingers slowly straightened the Lieutenant back up, leaving his chest drawn in and his shoulders back against the cool surface of the bedroom wall. It would have unnerved him, the apparent rejection, had Andy not looked so sincere.

Fabric glided over fabric, his Captain’s knee sliding elegantly between the willing gap Hillbilly made between his legs. A heavy thigh lent against his crotch, crushing buttons and a belt loop without concern. It had Eddie shuddering, so horribly aware of how long it had been.

If the shimmer of sweat on Andy’s brow were any consolation, it had been too long for him too.

Yet his motions remained slow. At least, slower than they could both recall; Eddie’s belt was still tugged hastily from his hips, cast aside onto the useless extra mattress. The leather laid side-by-side with Andy’s, as Hillbilly’s uncertain fingers tangled themselves in the sides of the man’s shirt. He was unsure where he was being led.

All that mattered was his willingness to follow.

Dress slacks crumpled to the floor, beside his shirt, leaving Eddie standing in naught but his underwear. The chills were lost beneath the heat of Andy’s mouth against his neck, open mouthed kisses leaving patches of heat that sparked fires in Hillbilly’s chest. His curls lent back against the wall and his closed eyes turned Heavenwards. His thighs felt tense around Ack Ack’s knee, that had returned to pressing upwards into the front of his underwear.

A hand took one side of his neck, thumb against the edge of his face. Eddie’s eyes opened as he felt heavy breath tickle the untouched side of his head. A kiss was laid chastely against his cheek as Andy spoke.

“I love every inch of you, Eddie.” He said quietly.

Hillbilly didn’t understand what he meant.

Not until Andy’s lips returned to his throat, then his collar, then over his chest. Laying a minefield of blessings with expert care, letting his mouth trail over the thin layer of curls dusting the man’s torso. Moving  West, _down_ , over the crumpled patch of skin that shielded Eddie’s heart.

It had the Lieutenant’s breath hitching, chin knocking his collar as he jerked his head downwards. Hooded eyes watching, waiting, unsteady hands burying themselves shamefully in his Captain’s hair.

Andy didn’t mind. Instead, his stayed where he was, bent over with his grip on Eddie’s hips supporting his weight. Face level with the palm-sized scar that twisted and coiled over a thin surgical incision and heavy lump that marked the bullet’s entry point. Marks upon marks, of those who desired to kill and those who wished to save.

Andy laid firstly a soft, gentle kiss there. Unable to feel the details through desecrated nerves, Eddie still had the air escaping his lungs. It was the tiniest pressure, tickling his chest, something he would usually ignore. Yet, he could watch now, see Andy kiss the scar again; open mouthed and wet and _warm_.

It was the warmth Hillbilly’s felt most. The heat of Ack Ack’s mouth - tongue moving in between all the dips and cracks of the ruined skin - fell through his chest, his ribs. It melted over his rapidly drumming heart and had Eddie closing his eyes.

He understood what Andy had meant now.

The tension left him, and his Captain felt it fall away beneath his hands, beneath his lips. It allowed him to move on freely, a pleased hum brushing Eddie’s skin as the man moved over to his side. The shrapnel wounds, torn pieces of metal, covered by an ugly layer of burns. A fine masterpiece; an ode to hideousness.

It turned to crumpled paper beneath Andy’s kisses. _A love letter_ , instead, marked by all the spots he chose to press his lips against, run his tongue over. It distracted from the thumbs that hooked over the band of Eddie’s underwear, sliding them carefully down his thighs.

The frayed cotton reached his knees with a grunt, Hillbilly torn away from his scars as fresh air brushed the skin of his cock, sprung free by the dropping of his underwear. Andy was content to move his mouth back up to Eddie’s throat as the man kicked off the restricting fabric.

Ack Ack’s hand moved steadily, down to grip his Lieutenant’s cock, and that was when Eddie had to stop. An aggressive grunt accompanied his fist around Andy’s wrist, warm fingers still cupped around his flushed member. Pink and full in his Captain’s hand, excited by little more than kisses and the rough pressure of the other man’s thigh.

Their gazes met, and one had the audacity to look concerned.

“I’ll cum.” Hillbilly explained bluntly, the words scraping his dry throat as he rested their foreheads together with a heavy breath.

Andy visibly relaxed, a relieved chuckle bubbling in his chest. The fear he had misstepped left him as quickly as it had arrived, though his hand did not move.

“Is that so bad?” The blonde asked. Despite the warmth of his tone, there was a cold humour behind it.

A sound somewhere between an indignant laugh and a growl rolled off Eddie’s tongue. His hard grip on Andy’s wrist moved instead to his hair, both hands fisting in the locks there. It had his Captain letting out a similar sound; a rough, unpolished grunt that rumbled in his chest and lasted a moment longer than needed.

They shared a forceful kiss before pulling back.

Their foreheads pressed hard against each other, held in place by Hillbilly’s grip buried deep in Andy’s hair. It was a moment of heavy panting, breath mixing in steam clouds before their eyes. Not that they could look at anything but each other, eyes shining from more than tears now.

“ _Andy_ …” Eddie began.

He hoped the pent up lust and hardened tone would cover the vulnerability beneath, the dying embers of a fear so close to being extinguished.

Andy’s free hand moved to his hips. Tiny circles were left in the wake of his moving thumb. He wanted to hear the rest.

“I ain’t fucked no one since.” Hillbilly admitted softly, punctuating the sentence with a thick swallow, “I- I couldn’t. It jus’- … They weren’t _you_.”

The small, sharp inhale Andy drew was enough. The instinctive tightening of his hand was just a bonus. It had Eddie’s voice tipped with pleasure, first few words a blissful hum before he steadied himself.

“I jus’ want you. I know it don’t mean the same-“ A pause marked a disappointed sigh, “’s when a man says it t’his girl, but…”

A smile took Andy’s lips, still gazing at the face pressed forehead to forehead with his own. He drew in a warm sigh.

“It means the same to me.” He said.

Eddie laughed. A nervous giggle, of sorts, watery in places and repressed in the rest. But the sound escaped him because he let it; because Andy was allowed to hear such things.

“Then,” Hillbilly asked, moving around the lump in his throat, “Will y’ have me, Andrew Haldane?”

The moan of pleasure that rattled Andy’s chest was the only warning Eddie got as the warm fingers left his cock, those handsome features dipping down so they could grab his thighs. The bedroom wall scraped Hillbilly’s back as he was hoisted upwards, grabbing Ack Ack’s shoulders in a moment of unsteadiness as he was lifted into the man’s arms. A gasp of surprise turned into the bells of laughter. Strong legs wrapped around a still clothed waist, Eddie’s thighs supported by Andy as he buried his face in his Lieutenant’s neck.

He breathed deep for a moment. Familiar scents – _sweat, Marine cloth, cigarette smoke_ – met with new and exciting ones. _Soap, car leather_. A distinct warm, earthy smell that had been shrouded by gun oil and seawater until now.

Eddie ran his hands through Andy’s hair, distracting him, moving those stray locks from his face.

Ack Ack looked up at him, still leaning them both casually against the wall. Naked in his arms; the handsome Lieutenant who had his fingers in his hair, gazing down like Andy had just told him of the Japanese surrender.

Didn’t he know he’d been the sun on Andrew’s horizon for five long years?

Knowing Eddie, probably not. That didn’t matter; that was past.

This moonlit bedroom, their chests heaving against each other, sharing hard-earned, _hard-fought_  warmth in the privacy of their homeland; this was what mattered.

Andy pressed a heavy kiss to the other man’s lips. Eddie parted his without hesitation. Between breaks from air, Ack Ack replied in a breathless whisper.

“I’ll have you for as long as you’ll have me.”  

It set every nerve in Eddie’s body alight with joy.

Heavy kissing turned to a rough, forceful exchange. The bedroom wall peeled away from Hillbilly’s shoulders, feet thumping against the floorboards until his back made sudden contact with a new, softer surface. Andy’s mattress bowed in their presence, dipping under their sudden weight before springing back. Nails scraped skin as the remaining layers of cloth were ripped away, tossed free of the scene. They were no longer required.

Between tongues running over each other and teeth biting lips – and the moans that followed as Eddie tugged demandingly – there were moments of muffled names. Quieted by courtesy rather than absolute fear; waking the couple who opened their home to this would not be doing right by them.

The moonlight was their guide, lining every sweaty muscle, every writhing limb with silver. It might have been romantic, were they man and wife. Were they not two hardened men, products of the Marine Corps, who could barely remember a world without gunfire and black smoke.

It might have been romantic, for all its flaws and rough motions. And it was, regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for putting up with long update times and a steadily increasing chapter number!! I know there will be less than 10 chapters to this, but I can see it reaching anything between 6 and 9 depending on how I fit everything in!!
> 
> Also, I'm gonna start replying to comments more!! Sorry about that, I need to give more response to your kind and very much appreciated feedback!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Andy make their first night together count. It leaves Eddie with a mixed fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for smut. Very NSFW.
> 
> Very late update too lmao.

Beneath Andy’s sweater vest and pale shirt, not much had changed. Maybe a little thinner where his muscles curved over his arms and built the angles of thighs, but that was all. And now with the exceptional addition of being clean, all the dust and dirt and grime of war scrubbed mercifully free.

He was beautiful.

Eddie knew that already. He just hadn’t appreciated it enough. (In his own opinion.)

Sheets crumpled beneath bent knees; Andy held himself perfectly over Eddie’s equally naked body. Moonlight ricocheted between them, reflecting off the blond’s chest down to the man sprawled out under him. Legs spread, thighs resting against each other.

There was silence at they looked at each other, lungs filling with the warm air of the night.

Waiting, _enjoying_. Catching a moment of rest before they both exploded. Grenades tended to set each other off after all, and Andy’s cock had been equally hard when Eddie had pulled it free from his slacks.

A careful hand was placed beside brown curls, a tender face leaning down to plant a soft kiss to their owner’s lips. There was electricity bubbling under their skin, prickling every nerve. It took a strong willpower from both sides to keep from simply rutting blindly against each other until they were satisfied.

Neither wanted that, too desperate to make this something lasting. It couldn’t be done, but _fuck,_ if they wouldn’t try.

The muscles of Eddie’s ass were strung tighter than a bow, his pants barely clearing his teeth as he met Andy’s stare with a mix of agony and bliss. Sweat beaded across his forehead, unshed tears still threatening his sight. All consuming; it was too much.

Their pace had come to a lurching halt where Andy hovered over him, mirroring the same pained expression. Equally brushed with sweat, raindrops moving across the pane of his neck. Wet hair struck his eyebrows, locks turned to heavy strands.

His need to continue eclipsed only by sheer force of will, demanding he stop and think.

A moment’s pause. A foreign nation they’d never known before now.

Asking permission had been left behind, along with other luxuries. Clean bodies, comfortable mattresses, a much needed shower post-relations. All gone.

There wasn’t time.

If the sex had to stop, it would take a firm hand or, if necessary, a swift knee to the stomach. It had never come to that, of course, but they both knew there would be no quiet words in between. Not enough time.

There was never enough time.

Because the dawn would break soon. There would be planes flying overhead, engines roaring. Guns would start cracking, boots marching. The island would need to be vacated, saving or condemning them to the next. The tent would rattle, the canvas shudder, and someone would need their Captain and Lieutenant back in action. So slide on a rubber and get to fucking, because _there’s a war on, boys_.

There was a war on. Always raging ever onward, though unseen and unsung.

Unspoken words were everything, the backbone of their relationship, their survival. A hardened skeleton that held their love, their lives, together in dark jungles and across dusty ridges.

Without the planes, the only engine roaring was in Andy’s head. Gears grinding uncomfortably as those unspoken rules and silent permissions failed to meet the pale bed sheets, the lace curtains, the chirping birds.

They’d never needed them before, never voiced any agreement.

Did that silent permission still stand?

Hillbilly swallowed thickly. Wetting his throat, gasping for air. He hadn’t the heart to scream, a rough demand would suffice.

“Stop teasin’ an’ _fuck me_ , Andy.” He spat out, frustration and lust dripping from each syllable.

It was enough to ease whatever moment of concern had gripped Ack Ack’s mind.

Their heavy grunts were smothered by another crushing kiss. Throaty huffs turned to long drawn growls as the movement bent Andy down, low enough to brush their aching cocks against each other. Barely a second of weak friction, yet it had both of them twitching, flushed and tense and craving more.

Sweaty fingers left indents in the sheets as the blond pushed himself forcefully away, a sound of contempt bubbling from his chest. An anger at having to leave Eddie’s embrace, leave him groaning on the mattress, if only to reach over to the bedside table. A fumbling mess finally gave Andy what he wanted; a well-worn tin of Vaseline. The fading letters shed a certain light on life in the Haldane household, though Eddie didn’t notice.

If precision was needed, they’d both be ruined as their thoughts became quickly occupied again. A heavy kiss found their lips, still tingling from earlier, as trained fingers scooped a generous helping of jelly from the tub. It was smeared over Andy’s cock by his own hand first, having to pull away as clenched teeth kept him together.

Clenched teeth turned to a shuddering grunt as Eddie’s fingers slid under his, gripping the base of his shaft and running up, _up_ , over his head. Spreading lube and pleasure in their wake, leaving their victim to bury his face in his tormentor’s neck. He bit down on Hillbilly’s collar for relief and the hand jerked free with an equally tormented grunt.

There wasn’t enough time here either, it seemed, though for reasons so wildly different from before.

The Vaseline coating Eddie’s fingers wasn’t wasted, put to good use as he shoved a finger inside himself. It slid in without complaint, though he’d argue otherwise as he tasted how good it felt. Imagining the stretch of Andy’s cock was almost too much, especially as a second and third finger were hastily added.

The digits moved in and out of his hole easily, Hillbilly fucking himself desperately as their chests slid against each other. A glance down revealed Andy had put a firm grip around the base of his cock, forefinger and thumb meeting in a vice-like bind. He was holding back, every accidental brush against each other causing more harm than good.

Patience was not on the table tonight. If they were gambling men, they would lose.

Slick fingers glistened in the moonlight as Eddie yanked his hand free, pulling his arm out from between them to scrape desperately at Andy’s nape. Trying to find a grip, nails digging into the skin beneath neatly trimmed hair. Their gusts of breath twirled against each other, lips close enough to feel the warmth as the blond shakily brought himself back up. Hand back beside those dark curls, now soaked through, other guiding his cock into Eddie’s waiting hole.

The two touched, a familiar join, and Hillbilly’s eyes snapped open, wide beneath a furrowed brow. Their gazes lock as the slick head of Andy’s cock pushes against his entrance, sharing an intensity neither of them were sure they could remember.

Perhaps on Cape Gloucester. Or the ridges of Peleliu.

_Never_ during sex.

Andy pushed inside him. Almost one swift motion, with only a single shuddering pause to moan once his head was past the ring of muscle. A second hand fell beside Eddie’s curls, caging him between the blond’s strong arms. The trapped marine choked, whatever noise he was trying to make disappearing as his chest lurched. Hesitation left them both as Ack Ack pulled back to thrust, to push forward for another shot at that pleasure. It buried him all the way inside, the grip on the back of his neck becoming violent.

Eddie’s free hand fumbled, his chest heaving as he franticly tried to get a grip on his cock, to put a tight hold on its base. _Not quick enough_ , the extra stimulation did nothing to stop his hips jerking, crying out as threads of pale white splashed across his stomach. Trembling thighs tightened around Andy’s waist, curled toes leaving heels to dig into his back. It only pulled him closer, deeper, as Hillbilly’s head fell back against the mattress.

His groan was exquisite to his love’s ears, warming every nerve in his already alight body. Andy let out a noise that in any other moment might represent pain, but the movement of his hips cried otherwise. A perfect, rough rhythm had him shoving in and out of Eddie’s ass, his eyes kept open and alert by the sight of Hillbilly milking the last few drops of cum from his cock.

Another grunt of agony left Andy’s forehead to connect with the other man’s chest, wet and dislodged locks meeting the panting curves of Eddie’s muscles. The momentary tremble that ran down from Ack Ack’s shoulders, followed by another short, violent shudder, left the room in silence. Two voices remained as wordless as ever, only their heavy breathing revealing any life in the house.

Panting in unison, without even trying. Chests rising only to fall a second later, unable to hold much more than a spoonful of air.

Outside, the moonlight had shifted. The American flag remained unmoved. Birds chirped quietly in the dark.

A peaceful night in a peace-ridden country.

Life began to return to the room. Andy’s forehead slid easily over Eddie’s chest, head rising up to reveal his slack jaw and half lidded eyes. A similar expression was mirrored as Hillbilly craned his neck, chin hitting his collar as he let their gazes meet. A hand came up to greet him, running sloppily over his cheek. Petting him, leaving a lopsided grin across his face.

Andy grinned too, for a moment, tired and satisfied.

It fell away quickly, brow furrowing uncertainly as his eyes travelled downwards. The petting hand retreated and his back arched, much to Eddie’s confusion, as Ack Ack looked down between the two of them. Hips retreating slowly, _carefully_. Hillbilly breathed a satisfied sigh as they watched Andy’s softening cock slip from inside him.

A blink later and a droplet of pale liquid followed. Warm as it ran down between a pair of muscled cheeks, leaving the blond man in a state of tense panic.

His eyes snapped back up to Eddie, suddenly cutting through his bliss induced haze. Sobriety was a painful thing, the effect clear across Ack Ack’s face. It filled his eyes and left him speechless, lip quivering as if all the fear from Peleliu had finally broken out and drowned his heart anew.

Now sober himself, Hillbilly swallowed and glanced briefly at the scene below. He looked back up at Andy just as quickly.

Two careful hands rose to cup Andy’s jaw. Fingers attempted to soothe away that pained expression.

“S’all right.” Eddie whispered “ _S’all right_.”

His thumbs moving across Ack Ack’s cheeks could feel the tension, not yet released. Not yet satisfied with his consent.

“ _Eddie_ -“ The blond tried.

“No.” Any further protest was cut down by Hillbilly’s soft but firm denial. “Not anymore.”

Those hands holding Andy’s head reignited, pulling gently on his jaw. He went willingly, arms bent as he was drawn down. Down to meet his love, lips pressing together carefully. A fragile kiss, turned soft as the fear began to ebb away from Ack Ack’s shoulders. Tongues brushed and dry skin became wet again, open mouths finally allowed to break their moment of grief. There was no sound bar their lips moving against each other, kissing breathlessly in the dark.

In the cold light and warm embrace, Eddie made out the angles of the face that pulled slowly back from his. Parted lips, particularly, as if preparing to say something. A threatening stare was sent upwards.

Andy persisted.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

The reply came without hesitation; “Always.”

As if on cue, a quiet burble met their ears. The pair glanced down in the direction of their still slick and dripping cocks, soiling their chests and now the sheets respectively. Along with the culprit of the disturbance, as more warm cum ran down the valley of Eddie’s ass.

The pair stifled their embarrassment behind childish grins.

Smiles swallowed up when their lips met softly. Whatever hurt Andy had felt take him melted away as they kissed, returning to the comfort of each other’s mouths.

They dragged themselves up the bed, laying side by side against the pillows. A mountain of the things, enclosing them in their little mattress foxhole. The covers were kicked up by their feet, sluggishly pulled over their bodies. Sliding over strong thighs, heaving chests, tense shoulders.

Their warmth filled any gap between them, where their stomachs couldn’t reach or their arms left spaces as they clung to each other.

The lace curtain fluttered in the night’s breeze. Both closed their eyes.

This wasn’t like the Canal, or Cape Gloucester, or Peleliu. It didn’t resemble Pavuvu either.

Because their cheeks were caressed by soft, pale fabric. The finest silk in comparison to dry dirt or scratchy canvas. There was no privacy under Pacific stars, or even the densest jungle leaves.

Here, in this new, unfamiliar world, the safety of Andrew’s bedroom had been carved out for them. It wasn’t perfect, even with strong arms around Hillbilly’s waist and his breath mixing with his love’s. Their foreheads pressed together, limbs tangled in their embrace.

It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t safe _. But it could have fooled him._

What it definitely wasn’t? _Permanent_.

The thought crossed Eddie’s mind like cool wind on a trembling back. Alighting every nerve as his eyes slipped open. Pale, broken blue met the moonlight. He thanked the Lord for his luck; with Andy facing the window, he could see the angles of his features illuminated.

Beautiful. And fleeting.

The moon was cold here in Lawrence, Massachusetts. The moon over the Pacific has always been warm, orange or gold. Dark as fire, ever casting terrifying shadows across their bodies.

Lying side by side with his sleeping Captain, Eddie recalled the same thoughts then as he had now. A painful sting pricked at his eyes, left damp droplets on the pillows. _Silent_ , never to disturb the man breathing so peacefully before him.

Hillbilly had learnt to cry quietly long ago.

And to mourn a death before it happened, as inevitable as the rising of the sun.

Back then, it had been just that; _Death_. Andy’s death.

A carefully timed bullet, a stray shrapnel piece. A crack, a boom, a grenade, a mortar. Drowning in mud or coughing up dirt, disease stalking or heat ripping. Every grain of sand another opportunity for that impermanence to rear its ugly, fateful head.

Apparently, its bite had come close. So very close.

Eddie didn’t want to stare. A watery view of the scar that mottled Ack Ack’s temple was bad enough, disappearing beneath his hairline. It had Hillbilly squeezing his eyes shut, clenching his teeth hard enough they might crack. Anything to keep him silent, to keep himself steady.

No stutters and no shakes. Nothing, _nothing_ to wake his sleeping Captain.

Heavy breaths left his nose when he dared let them, eyes wandering over that moonlit face. Old creases remained, set into that handsome brow, carved a million miles from here. Yet he slept on, lost to the softness of the bed and the pleasure of their night together.

Safe in Hillbilly’s grasp, comforted by the warmth of his skin.

A slow blink had Eddie succumbing to the same madness. Something he would have fought, hailed as false and idiotic back then. To sleep comfortably, in the quiet of the moon and the safety of a bedroom. Tears shed and left to dry on his cheeks, lost to the soft fabric.

He eventually fell asleep, in Andy’s arms, his hand around the man’s waist. Skin against skin, warm and content under the duvet.

_Mourning a loss before it could come._

Death didn’t have to be close anymore, lurking down their rifle sights. Life would just as cruelly take Andy from him.

**Author's Note:**

> I put my heart and soul into this so thank you very much for reading!


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